


the weight of memory

by halcyonlight



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Modern AU, THEY'RE SOULMATES BC DUH, college au??? sort of? maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 53,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonlight/pseuds/halcyonlight
Summary: Blake smiles, and it’s one of the saddest things Yang’s ever seen. “I’m pretty sure we know each other in other lives. And not just one or two. I think we’ve been together many, many times.”And Yang, who doesn’t believe in any of these things, who makes fun of ghost stories and astrology and crystal balls, looks Blake right in the eye and says, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”





	1. Yang

**Author's Note:**

> part one of two! part two will be blake's POV and should hopefully be posted in february :)

_twenty-five_

There’s a blizzard on the night Yang’s carefully-calculated plan falls apart. Of course there is, she thinks bitterly, flipping up her jacket hood and tucking her long blonde hair inside so it won’t get wet. The street outside her apartment is already coated in white, footprints tracking across the sidewalk, car headlights pale in the hazy evening air. Honestly, she’d thought about cancelling at least five times over the past hour, but it’s been weeks since she’s seen Pyrrha and she sounded so insistent over the phone.

Yang rounds the corner and catches sight of the familiar bar, music pounding in a steady hum, voices and laughter carried out on the chilly air. Almost no one is out tonight, but Amity Tavern is always packed. She’s been coming here ever since she moved to the city after college. Over the years, it’s become the standard hangout spot whenever she and Pyrrha have something to discuss. Sometimes Weiss too, when she’s not busy.

She swings open the heavy wooden door, smiling vaguely at the greetings yelled in her direction; everybody knows her here. One voice stands out among the chaos.

“Yang!” Pyrrha’s waving from a round table by the window, some fancy martini in one hand. Always classy, Yang thinks, shaking her head. She walks over, pulling off her gloves and jacket.

“See, this is why I always feel like we’re having business meetings when we get together,” Yang says, sliding into the chair opposite her friend, gesturing at her drink. Before she can even look in the direction of the bar, a cut crystal glass of Glenfiddich slides across their table, dropped off by one of the bartenders. “Oh, shit, nice. Gotta love the service here.”

Pyrrha gestures at the whisky. “This is why _I_ always feel like I’m having drinks with a sixty-year-old Scottish man.”

“Please.” Yang shakes her long hair over her shoulders. “When you order something like _that_ \--” she gestures at the martini, “--you’ll have random creeps hitting on you all night, trying to buy you shit.”

“So whisky is a creep deterrent?” Pyrrha laughs, giving Yang an affectionate look. “I’m not totally sure that’s true…”

But Yang has gone completely silent, staring at Pyrrha. Or, more accurately, Pyrrha’s left hand, the one holding the martini glass.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she breathes.

Pyrrha’s face flushes, but she sets down her drink and holds out her delicate, perfectly-manicured hand. Yang grabs it, pulling hard, almost yanking her arm out of the socket. A princess cut diamond glitters on Pyrrha’s ring finger.

“This is what you brought me here to tell me?!”

“Yang.” Pyrrha laughs, opposite hand covering her mouth. “People are looking.”

“Who cares! You’re getting married?!”

“We are, yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I really wanted to tell you in person -- it just happened yesterday.”

Yang sinks back into her chair, still clutching Pyrrha’s hand and staring at the ring. “This is incredible! Seriously, how the hell did Jaune afford -- sorry, that was totally inappropriate, I’m just excited.”

“That’s actually not even the main thing I wanted to tell you. Um…” Pyrrha clears her throat. “I was wondering if you would be my maid of honor.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then -

“ _Fuck!_ ” Yang screams, hurling her body across the table to hug an alarmed Pyrrha around the neck. She narrowly misses sending their glasses crashing to the floor. “Are you -- you’re really serious?”

“I’m serious. It would mean a lot to me.” Pyrrha ruffles her hair affectionately, and Yang sinks back into her seat, still grinning.

“I can’t believe you guys are getting married. I can’t believe it. I _can’t_. This is so weird.”

“It’s weird?”

“Well, no, it’s you guys, so it’s not weird, but still… none of my other friends are married yet. Does Ruby know? Does _Weiss_? Oh my god, can I please be there when you tell Weiss?”

Pyrrha grins, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “You’re the first to know aside from our families. I wanted to make sure you would be okay with the whole maid of honor thing.”

“Dude, I got you. Don’t even worry. I will be the greatest maid of honor the world has ever known,” Yang says solemnly. “The bachelorette party will be kickass.”

“Oh, I don’t really know that I want--”

Yang holds up one finger. “There will be pink champagne. DJs, plural. Fog machines. Strippers. Years from now, legends will be told around campfires about this bachelorette party.”

“That’s… kind of weird.”

“You just wait.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, trying to get Pyrrha to laugh, but her friend’s smile flickers out. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine with me - I’m really happy - but Yang, here’s the thing. I’m planning an engagement party… you know I’m not a huge partier, but my mom is so excited, and Jaune’s always up for this sort of thing, not to mention his sisters, so I figured, a party can’t hurt, you know?”

“That’s cool,” Yang says, trying to understand the problem. “When is it?”

“End of this month -- hopefully the weather won’t be awful, I know it’s tricky given that it’s January. Ruby’s invited, of course, and Weiss, and Ren and Nora, but I - I wanted to tell you. Before I send out invitations. Um…”

Something lurches in the pit of Yang’s stomach. She waits.

“I’m going to invite Blake,” Pyrrha blurts out, finally meeting Yang’s eyes. “She’s been a great friend to me over the years, and I wouldn’t feel right not having her there. But of course, if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Yang says uncomfortably. She shifts on her chair. “Pyrrha, it’s your engagement party. Please, you and Jaune invite whoever you want. Don’t worry about me.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am _very_ sure.”

“Okay, great! Well, let me just text Jaune to tell him we can get started on the invitations, and then I want to hear all about how work’s going.”

When Pyrrha picks up her phone, Yang sucks in a deep breath and downs the rest of her whisky in one gulp.

*

_fourteen_

“DAD!” Yang shrieks, stampeding down the upstairs hallway, pounding on each door as she passes. “Daaaa-aaaad!”

“He’s not up here!” Ruby calls from her room where she’s perched in front of the television, PlayStation controller in one hand. Zwei, their dog, is asleep on her feet, and she’s already wearing pajamas even though it’s not even dinnertime. “Wanna play with me? I’ll kick your butt.”

“Extremely unlikely, and no, I don’t want to play.” Yang steps into Ruby’s room, studying her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Waves of gold hang in tangles down to her elbows. She grabs Ruby’s brush and starts raking it through her messy hair. “I have really important plans.”

Ruby doesn’t ask for details, too invested in her game, but Yang continues anyway.

“Nora Valkyrie’s having a party, which usually would be super lame, but you know that Ren kid she’s always hanging around? I guess apparently he’s bringing some friends from _his_ school, so there’s gonna be tons of people there.”

“Daughter?” Tai pokes his head into the room, looking amused. “You screamed?”

Yang whirls around from the mirror. “Dad, Nora’s having this huge party at her house tonight and I know it’s really last minute, but I _have_ to go. Everyone’s gonna be there. From school, and from Beacon, too. If I don’t go, I’ll look like a huge loser. Do you want a loser for a daughter?”

“Definitely not.” Tai’s eyes widen with mock seriousness. “I can see this is a dire situation. I’m making dinner, but I bet your uncle will take you.”

They head down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen, where Qrow is reading in a chair with his combat boots resting on the table.

“And what kind of party is this exactly?” Tai asks. “Should I call Nora’s parents? I probably should…”

“Tai, the kid’s fourteen,” Qrow interrupts, glancing at them over his shoulder. “She doesn’t need to leave the house to do tequila shots, especially not when she’s been doing ‘em with me since she was ten.”

Yang bursts out laughing, but Tai shoots him an exasperated glare.

“I know I’m gonna regret this, but Qrow, walk her over to the party and if there’s _any_ kind of bullshit going on, bring her home right away. Got it?”

Qrow gives him a mock salute and sits up, kitchen chair crashing against the floor. He winks at Yang.

“C’mon, kid, let’s get outta here. Bring your flask.”

-

To Yang’s great disappointment, the party is boring. It’s Nora’s fourteenth birthday, so there’s a chocolate cake with buttercream icing, hot pink balloons are strung up around the cozy living room, and there’s definitely no drinking, since Nora’s mom is in the kitchen handing out pizza on paper plates. Yang can’t even meet any of the kids from Beacon Academy because Weiss is following her around chattering nonstop.

“...and Winter got to buy a new dress, which is _completely_ ridiculous because Mother took her shopping literally a week ago. Nobody cares when she spends money because, ooh, she’s Winter, and ooh, she’s so special, and ooh, she deserves it!”

“Not to play devil’s advocate here, but I feel like you get new clothes all the time.” Yang takes a bite of pizza and immediately spits it back onto her plate. “Eww, olives.”

Weiss narrows her eyes. “That was so gross. We’re in public. There are cute guys here.”

“Where?” Yang scans the room. Someone’s playing Top 40 pop music on the stereo, and a bunch of kids from Yang’s school are crowded in front of the television playing some dance video game. Most of the private school kids, the ones who know Ren and Weiss, are sitting out on the back porch in the cold, clustered together and deep in conversation. “There’s no one cute anywhere.”

“Your standards are way too high. I don’t know how you ever think you’re going to date someone with an attitude like that.”

Yang smirks. “Maybe I don’t want to date someone. Maybe I’m cool enough on my own.”

“Maybe.” Weiss eyes her skeptically. “But I wouldn’t push your luck.”

Yang checks her phone. She’d promised Qrow that she wouldn’t walk home without him, and he wasn’t due to show up for another hour. Sighing, she tossed her paper plate onto the coffee table. “Well, I’m not eating this, so we might as well get some cake.”

They get up together and head for the kitchen, Weiss grumbling about how she spent _so_ long straightening her hair and picking out the perfect skirt for tonight, and it wasn’t even worth it. As they pass the glass door leading to the patio, Yang glances over. There’s a girl sitting outside on one of the chairs, legs folded underneath her, a book in her lap. Her face is pale in the moonlight and coal black hair spills over her shoulders, the top section of her hair pulled back with a velvet bow.

Yang freezes, staring. Something in her heart unravels.

“Weiss,” she whispers, and she can hear the breathless wonder in her own voice, like someone’s sucked all the air from the room. “Who is that?”

Weiss follows Yang’s gaze, squinting out at the dark backyard. “Oh. The creepy serious girl in the corner? She goes to my school.”

Yang whips her head around to stare at her best friend, jaw hanging open. Weiss had concealed this information all these years? She’d sat in class with this girl, walked the same halls, breathed the same oxygen, and never thought to mention it to Yang? Never thought to bring her along when they went to dinner or the movies?

“What’s her name?” Yang asks. Her voice breaks on the last word.

“Blake Belladonna. Her parents know my parents from the country club. Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re having an aneurysm.”

 _I’m fine_ , Yang starts to say, but at that exact moment, Blake looks up, straight at her. Her eyes are amber, gold, glittering. Her lips part like she’s about to speak.

Yang backs up slowly into the kitchen, and then, without another word to Weiss, turns and runs. She doesn’t stop until she gets home. Races through the front door, past a confused Qrow. Thunders up the staircase. Flings herself onto her bed. With shaking hands, she fumbles under her mattress for a notebook. It’s smudged and ripped and worn from years of use, a ballpoint pen clipped to the cover.

She flips to a new page, so frantic that it almost tears, and scribbles one line:

_She’s real._

*

_ten_

Moonlight, spilling like silver, rainwater soaking through the earth. Stars scattered from an invisible hand and spelling out constellations high above her head. She’s barefoot in the grass, pushing her way through trees that press against her.

“Hello?” she calls, voice trembling.

A shadow darts ahead of her. Always ahead, always out of reach. She thinks she hears a laugh, a low rattling whisper gaining on her. He’s coming, he’s coming. Choking on a sob, she forces herself into a run. If she can just catch the person in front of her, she will be saved. If only.

It’s just a nightmare, but Yang wakes up crying, clutching her quilt between trembling fingers.

“Yang?” Ruby pokes her head around the bedroom door. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulders in low, messy pigtails and her feet are bare. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”

“I just… heard you crying.”

“It was probably Zwei,” Yang says, faking a yawn, and rolls over to face the wall. Moonlight pools across her quilt. The same light from her nightmare. She closes her eyes to blot it out, everything: the deep indigo of late night, the black skeletons of trees creaking on the wind. She doesn’t breathe until her little sister’s footsteps pad away down the hallway. Surely, by morning, the nightmare will have faded away into something she doesn’t remember.

But it doesn’t.

It comes back.

It gets stronger.

*

_twenty-five_

“Well, I, for one, think it’s an excellent idea,” Weiss says in lieu of a greeting the second she steps through Yang’s apartment door. She’s wearing a navy blue peacoat, fleece leggings, and fur-lined boots. From her place on the couch, Yang watches her brush melting snow off the coat and hang it on the hook behind her.

“An excellent idea?” Yang repeats. “That’s what you’re gonna call it? Hello, by the way.”

Weiss frowns, hands on her hips, taking in the sight of Yang sprawled upside down on the couch, the tips of her yellow hair skimming the carpet. The coffee table is littered with Chinese takeout boxes and soda cans. “Hello. Yes, I think it’s an excellent idea for you to see Blake again. How long has it been, anyway? Four years?”

“Five.” Yang kicks her wool-socked feet in the air.

“That’s ridiculous. Especially for people like you, with your ‘best friends’ necklaces and red string of fate nonsense. The two of you were nauseating.”

She swallows hard, willing herself not to show emotion. Fortunately, that’s easy to hide when you’re hanging upside down. “We never had ‘best friends’ necklaces.”

“Yang, she was good for you.” Weiss perches on the edge of the couch, crossing her legs neatly. “And I never knew her that well -- at least, I didn’t know her before -- but it always seemed like you were good for her, too. There was something electric there. Something beautiful. Everyone could see it.”

Yang makes a noncommittal noise, rolling off the couch and onto the floor.

“You _must_ miss her,” Weiss says.

“I don’t need her. I have you. I have Ruby. I have Pyrrha. I have Qrow, Dad…I have Raven…”

Weiss lets out an undignified snort.

“Yeah,” Yang admits. “That sounded pretty stupid.”

“Look, you’re my best friend. I’m never going to push you to do something you don’t want to do. But, Yang…” Weiss places a hand on her shoulder. “Somehow, deep down, I think you really do want to do this.”

Yang bites her lip, looks away. That’s all the confirmation Weiss needs.

“So we’ll get you a really fabulous outfit,” she says brightly. “It’ll be fun! I need to get a new dress anyway, so we’ll make a whole day of it. How’s Saturday for you?”

“Well, I was planning on getting lunch with Ruby and then watching Netflix on the couch until I fell into a coma.”

“I’m sorry to disrupt that. Let’s invite Ruby too -- if we don’t step in, she’ll probably wear Converse to the party.” Weiss grabs her phone, typing out a text message. “Wow, Yang. Seriously. Can you believe Pyrrha and Jaune are actually getting married?”

“I can one hundred percent believe it. Pyrrha’s older than us, they’re both obsessed with each other, and there’s no way they’d ever date anybody else.” Yang rolls over onto her back, sighing dramatically. “What I _can’t_ believe is that I’m going to have to get through months of this.”

“This?” Weiss asks.

“Seeing Blake all the time! There’s the engagement party, and then there’s the stupid bachelorette thing that I already promised to plan, and _then_ there’s the wedding itself!” Yang pauses, new terrifying thoughts occurring to her with every passing second. “Oh my god. You don’t think Pyrrha asked her to be a bridesmaid? Am I going to have to _text_ her _updates_? ‘Hey girls, bachelorette weekend coming up, pack your sluttiest bikinis! Pre-wedding brunch at the hotel, Venmo me $40 for your personalized silk floral bathrobe!”

“Okay, I know Pyrrha’s straight, but seriously,” Weiss says, barely suppressing a laugh. “What kind of weird Sex and the City experience are you planning?”

“I don’t know how to do all this hetero crap!” Yang wails.

“Yang.” Weiss leans forward, patting her best friend on the head. “I really don’t think Blake will be in the wedding party. Pyrrha hangs out with you and I all the time -- that’s why she asked us. Blake lives far away and as far as I know, they barely speak. There’s just a shared history, and she was part of a friend group that’s important to Pyrrha. She’s invited to the wedding, but you’re not going to, like, suddenly welcome her back into your life with open arms.”

Yang hauls herself up into a standing position, staggering into her bedroom. “I’m getting dressed, and then you and I are going out to do some activity that does not involve talking about this shit anymore.”

“Whatever you say.” Weiss’s phone vibrates and she glances down at it, perking up immediately. “Oh, great! Ruby’s free next Saturday for shopping.”

“Woohoo,” Yang says sarcastically from the closet. She pulls on a cable knit sweater and jeans, then slinks back into the living room, leaning up against the doorframe. “I had a plan, Weiss. A plan to avoid her for the rest of my life.”

Weiss smiles. “I know you did. But sometimes, the universe looks your plans dead in the eye and decides it doesn’t give a shit.”

*

_thirteen_

This is the year that Yang starts keeping a dream journal. She always hated stuff like that, thought it was cheesy, but she’s sick of being haunted. Every night, she hides the spiral notebook under her mattress, hoping she won’t need it. Every night, she does.

_He follows me -- who is he? Tall, white mask - the shadows are taller than the trees. The air smells like ash and blood, I think. There’s a girl. Who is she?_

_Who is she?_ Yang mouths to herself, twirling her pen between two fingers, then slumps back against her pillows. She’s long given up hope of ever finding answers.

The worst dream comes on the night before she starts seventh grade.

It rips through her subconscious like someone is painting behind her eyelids in vivid splashes of color. She’s sitting on a sleeping bag next to Ruby, laughing like they always do, but out of the corner of her eye she’s watching a girl with long dark hair. She’s standing in a pool of sunlight at the front of a classroom where she’s never been, dust motes drifting in the air, and she’s pouring out her soul to a pair of golden-brown eyes that watch her with half-interest: _my mother left me, I never knew her, I learned to fight to fill the holes in me, to be the person I was born to be, to protect my sister._ She rips out her heart and holds in her palm, smashes it against the wall, letting it burst and drip like a ripe strawberry. _Love me, love me, love me._

A figure cuts through the shadows, a man raising a sword -- she’s strong, she’s fast, but he’s stronger and faster, and just as the blade comes whooshing down through the air, a dark-haired girl throws herself in front of her, taking the blow.

She wakes up to a physical pain lancing through her body, shooting up and down her arm. She screams and screams. It takes her a few minutes to land in reality and realize that her father is holding her, that Ruby is clinging to the doorframe, eyes wide with terror. Everything is fine. The excruciating pain in her arm is just imaginary, just a holdover from the dream, and it’s fading with every passing second.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. Her father lets go and sits on the edge of her bed, still watching with concern. “I’m really sorry.”

“Honey, are you okay?” Tai asks.

She tries to ignore Ruby still hovering by the door. “I’m fine, Dad. You know… just stressed out about school.”

“Okay,” he answers warily, and the next day when they drive to school, he watches his oldest daughter extra carefully out of the corner of his eye. But they don’t discuss it again.

After that night, the nightmares stop.

*

_fourteen_

Yang never really cared about going to Beacon Academy before. It was just a fact of life that Weiss went to a fancy school where she wore a uniform and went on epic field trips and learned to speak Latin, and Yang wasn’t a part of it. She liked her own school. She liked that she could walk there every morning with Ruby, laughing and chatting, and she liked that her father was a teacher there. But now that she’s learned of Blake Belladonna’s existence, every moment she spends not on the Beacon campus feels like an utter waste of her life.

On the Monday after Nora’s party, Yang walks Ruby to school like usual. They’re in different buildings now: Ruby’s in seventh grade, and Yang’s across the street at the high school, struggling through her freshman year. She gives her little sister the usual hug on the sidewalk, tells her “be good” (to which Ruby always answers, “I will if you will”), and trudges across the street to her school.

Or at least, that’s what she wants Ruby to think.

As soon as her sister’s safely in the building, Yang sprints three blocks to the bus stop, backpack slamming against her spine. She’s been to Beacon Academy with Weiss a bunch of times, usually to watch her holiday concerts or to sit in the stands of some sporting event that Weiss didn’t want to attend alone, so she knows the route. The bus pulls up and it’s a twenty minute drive to campus.

It looks just how she remembers: sprawling green lawn, arching stone buildings, fountain bubbling in the warm morning sunshine. Oak trees stretch tall along the winding driveway. The iron gate is still wide open to allow parents to drop off their children, so Yang walks right up to the courtyard, making herself comfortable on a bench. She probably won’t run into Weiss, since she usually gets to school early for one of her ten million clubs, so she concentrates her full energy into searching for Blake.

She doesn’t get off the school bus. She’s not part of a carpool, she’s not walking with a group of classmates. Yang is starting to lose hope when a banged-up black Audi screeches up to the curb. Every other car that’s pulled up has been pristine, so this one catches Yang’s attention. She frowns, watching the passenger door swing open, and then, like she manifested it, Blake climbs out.

Yang’s heart freezes, skips two beats, starts again, pounds. She sits up straighter. Blake’s wearing the Beacon uniform she’s seen on Weiss tons of times -- red and gold kilt, white blouse, burgundy blazer. It always looked kind of weird on Weiss, too dark and intense for her coloring, but it could have been made for this girl. She’s wearing a small leather backpack, and Yang watches her adjust the black bow on top of her head. Her hair falls like a curtain over her shoulders; she brushes her bangs out of her eyes and before slamming the car door shut, Yang catches a glimpse of an auburn-haired guy in the front seat. Slam. Tires squeal. The car’s gone.

 _Shit,_ Yang thinks. _Now I have to actually do something. She’s walking over here. Oh my god, she’s walking over here._

For a few long moments that stretch into infinity, Blake doesn’t see her. Then a gust of wind ripples through the courtyard, startling her, and her head snaps up. Her golden eyes lock onto Yang’s, and her mouth opens just slightly. She only stands in front of Yang for a second, but somehow Yang has time to regret every single decision that led her to this moment - _why did I come here, why did I think this would be smart, why did I wear these ugly jeans?_

“Hey,” Yang stutters, getting to her feet. “Um. I don’t actually go here. But uh, you might know my best friend, Weiss Schnee?”

A weird expression flickers over Blake’s face. She tilts her head slightly to the side, smiling faintly, and Yang has to cling onto her backpack straps to keep from collapsing -- she _is_ the girl in her nightmares, the dark-haired girl, the one who leapt in front of her to keep her safe. Images flash through her mind, each less logical than the last.

“Anyway, I’ll go, but I wanted to tell you something.” Yang sucks in a breath, preparing for this girl to think she’s absolutely certifiable, preparing to never, ever see her again except as a shadow in the background of her nightmares. “This is gonna sound really weird, but I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

Blake’s smile flickers out, dying like an old star. Her eyes glitter and widen, and she takes a step forward, half reaches a hand toward Yang like she wants to touch her and make sure she’s real. But she doesn’t. Her hand falls to her side, and Yang hears her voice for the very first time.

“How do you know about that?”

*

_sixteen_

They don’t speak again for two years.

Yang doesn’t usually run away from things; it’s not her style. But after the conversation in the Beacon Academy courtyard, she finds that she can’t quite face Blake. There’s something strange there, like she leaned up against a locked door, threw all her weight against it, and when it finally flew open, she stumbled out and fell into starry black nothingness. It thrills and terrifies her in equal measure. Those dreams, nightmares, had haunted Yang for years. _Years_. And Blake knew about them. Somehow, she knew.

Sleep comes easier now. She lies awake longer, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling, imagining Blake’s golden eyes and the pull of the wind against her black hair. But when she finally drifts off, she sleeps through until morning. Tai looks relieved and puts extra brown sugar in her breakfast oatmeal. Ruby stops orbiting around her and relaxes, shoving video game controllers into her hands, chattering about school. Qrow treats her exactly the same.

Weiss knows the truth.

“You should just _talk_ to her,” she whines, stretching out across Yang’s bed. They never hang out at Weiss’s mansion, which is cold and echoey and packed with kitchen staff and butlers. Here, it’s cozy, even if half the time Weiss is banging around the room picking up Yang’s dirty socks and jeans and organizing her textbooks on the bookshelf. “If you’re that in love with her…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Yang holds up a threatening hand. She’s just gotten back from her morning run, which means she has to do a couple sets of pushups before she can call it a successful morning. She leans back on the orange yoga mat she’s spread across the floor, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. “Nobody ever said shit about love.”

“Yang, you’ve been talking about this girl nonstop for two years. If that’s not love, God help the person you finally fall in love with.” Weiss rolls onto her back, yawning. She’s still wearing her pajamas, a silk blue set from Victoria’s Secret. “Look, I have to go out today -- it’s my stupid brother’s birthday this week, so you know, the festivities have to start forty-eight hours in advance.” She hops off the bed and heads over to her duffel in the corner, pulling out a pale green and white sundress. “But meet me at Starbucks later, okay? At like, two? I’m gonna need a break.”

“Okay,” Yang agrees, tightening her ponytail. “See you at two.”

-

She does not, in fact, see Weiss at two.

The drive to Starbucks usually takes about eight minutes, but she makes it there in five. Technically, she doesn’t even have her license yet; pushing the speed limit is running a risky game. Qrow is a big advocate of baptism by fire and lets Yang borrow his car when she needs it. “This goddamn car’s basically a tank,” he says, tossing her the keys to the ancient Camry. “I think you can handle it.”

At the counter, Yang orders her usual mocha frappuccino with whipped cream and two pumps of raspberry. Weiss will judge her for it when she arrives as usual, but that’s life. She’s leaning up against the counter suppressing a yawn when the front door swings open, and Yang’s entire world flips on its axis.

“Whoa,” says Blake Belladonna, frozen in the doorway, framed by afternoon sunlight. She’s staring right at Yang with wide eyes. “Um… you’re not Weiss.”

“Neither are you,” Yang says hoarsely. Blake’s walking toward her. It dawns on her that she’s never really seen Blake’s actual clothes before -- the night of Nora’s party she was sitting in the dark, and after that she’d been in the Beacon uniform. Now she’s wearing a white tank top tucked into high-waisted jean shorts, a long tan cardigan on top. No more bow on top of her head. Her black hair is twisted into a fishtail braid.

“Yang!” The barista calls, sliding her frappuccino down the counter. “Venti mocha frap with extra whip and two pumps of raspberry?”

Blake brings her hand to her mouth, covering a smile. “That sounds... good.”

“It _is_ good,” Yang says, a little bit more passionately than she’d intended. “Look, did… did Weiss invite you here?”

“She did. She told me to meet here at two so we could go over our Chem homework.”

Yang groans, resting her elbows on the counter and slamming her forehead into her hands. “She told me to meet _her_ here. What the hell?”

“Well, we might as well sit down and talk. Clearly it’s what she wants,” Blake says, striding up to the counter and calmly ordering some kind of hot tea with almond milk.

The second her back is turned, Yang whispers _shit_ and scrambles in her drawstring bag for a mirror, coming up empty-handed. Frantically, she turns on her phone’s front-facing camera and rakes her fingers through her tangled hair. Blake starts to turn, slipping her wallet into her pocket, and Yang grabs her drink and hurls herself into a seat at the closet table. Her phone falls to the floor with a sickening crack. When she picks it up again, two fine lines spiderweb across the screen. She taps out a quick text to Weiss: _dude what the FUCK did you do??_

Weiss responds immediately with three devil emojis.

“I don’t know if you remember my name,” Blake says after her drink arrives, sliding into the other seat at the table. This is awfully polite, Yang thinks, because as far as she can recall, Blake had never told her her name. She’d learned it from Weiss and let it ricochet around her skull for the next two years. “I’m Blake Belladonna.”

“Yang Xiao Long.” A handshake seems like it would be weird, so Yang preoccupies herself by grabbing her frappuccino with both hands. “You’re, um… are you friends with Weiss?”

“We have some classes together. I don’t know if I’d call us friends.” Blake sips her drink. “Not like the two of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you guys around Beacon. You came to the football game one time with streaks of red paint on your face and spent the entire time screaming at the players while Weiss took Instagram selfies.”

Yang drops her frappuccino to the table, jaw dropping. “You saw me?”

“It was pretty hard to miss you. Didn’t you have red streaks in your hair?”

She swallows hard. “Yeah, it was temporary dye. My dad almost killed me when I came downstairs that day. Blake, that was like… a year ago.”

“Well, I have a good memory,” she says softly. “You were… sorry, I don’t want to freak you out.”

“You’re not freaking me out.”

“I was going to say, you were always at Weiss’s chorus concerts. I remember she had a solo one year and you got there so early that they were still setting up. I was doing stage crew back then, so I was backstage, and I remember you sat in the front row with a t-shirt that said…”

“ _I Would Die For Weiss Schnee_ ,” they both say in unison, and Yang bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She shakes her head. “We were like, eleven. It was her first solo ever, and she was so nervous. Afterwards we walked to the burger place around the corner and she stress-ate an entire bacon cheeseburger.”

Blake smiles, crossing her legs. “I couldn’t get over your face when you were watching her sing. You looked like one of those puppies in an adoption commercial where it finally gets placed with a good home.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Yang exclaims, and she’s alarmed to hear the singsong, flirtatious note in her voice. She clears her throat. “I was just excited for her.”

“You guys have a really good friendship. I always noticed that.” Blake shrugs and sips her tea. “Maybe I was a little jealous, too. When I was younger.”

“But not anymore?”

“I don’t really need tons of friends. It’s fine. When I was a kid, I tried really hard to be social, but now… I have the people I need.” She blinks down at the table. “For the most part.”

Yang studies her, resting her elbows on the table.

“Yang, I should apologize,” Blake says suddenly, eyes flickering up to lock onto Yang’s, lavender and gold. “That day you came to Beacon two years ago and we talked… do you remember that?”

She nods, taking a long gulp of her drink.

“I scared you. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to. Um… I owe you an explanation.”

Yang thinks about faking, pretending none of it was real. Denying the screaming nightmares, the pain she couldn’t explain away, the fact that she had seen Blake’s face in her dreams long before ever meeting her. But she can’t lie. Not to this girl.

“Do you _have_ an explanation?” Yang asks. “Like… Did you recognize me too? Do you know about my nightmares?”

“Not... exactly. I did recognize you, but…” Blake trails off, sucks on her green Starbucks straw thoughtfully. Yang’s eyes widen. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. But please - _please_ \- don’t tell anybody.”

Yang leans forward eagerly. “I won’t tell! I swear.”

“Basically… the women in my family have this special ability to see things that other people can’t.”

“Are you psychic?”

“No. But I was always taught to believe that there’s more to this world than we think. If you feel a close connection to another person, you might have known them in another life. And not necessarily a past life. My mom always explained it like this: every time you make a decision, something big and life-altering, the universe splinters apart and reforms.”

Yang wrinkles her nose. “I don’t really get it.”

“Okay, so think of it like this. What’s something really big that’s happened in your life?” She watches Yang with serious golden eyes, dark lashes brushing her pale cheeks like charcoal. It doesn’t appear to cross her mind that this might be a personal question.

Yang thinks about simple things, about the day Ruby was born, when Tai carried her to meet her new sister. She thinks of when Summer used to pick her up in the backyard while hanging up her laundry and spin her around in the sunshine, her tiny arms and legs stretched like a bird taking flight. She thinks of her first day of school, of meeting Weiss when they were six, of standing by Summer’s grave and holding her little sister’s hand.

She could have mentioned any of these things. Instead, she hears herself say, “my mother left us when I was little.”

Sympathy flashes across Blake’s face. “Okay,” she says softly. “So imagine… that she didn’t leave. Imagine that she stayed. That creates a whole other universe right there.”

Yang slurps her frappuccino. “Sure does.”

“And in that life - this is all hypothetical, okay? I don’t know what your mom was like - in that life, she stays, but maybe she’s mean to you, until one day she has some epiphany and starts being kind. That’s another universe created. Your sister is never born, but your parents decide to have a second kid, and it can’t be Ruby, so that’s another universe too. Do you see what I’m saying? There are endless possibilities, endless choices. So there are endless universes blooming around us, always.”

“So you’re saying that you, and your mom, and all the women in your family…”

“We can feel the other universes,” Blake says, tucking her legs beneath her. “All of them.”

Yang leans forward, eyebrows raised. “And what does that feel like?”

“Heavy.” Blake shrugs. “Sometimes, like… crushing.”

“Do you think about it all the time? Like, do you just walk around with all these different versions of yourself in your head?” Just the idea of it makes Yang feel nauseous.

“No. We can compartmentalize. Sometimes I think that’s the only way to live.”

Yang leans back in her chair, long legs stretching out under the table, arms folding across her chest. “That’s really, really crazy.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“I’m saying…” Yang tosses her golden hair back, staring at Blake head-on. She will be confident. She will be brave. “I’m saying, there must be something weird going on, because how else could I have seen your face before we ever met?”

Blake smiles, and it’s one of the saddest things Yang’s ever seen. “I’m pretty sure we know each other in other lives. And not just one or two. I think we’ve been together many, many times.”

And Yang, who doesn’t believe in any of these things, who makes fun of ghost stories and astrology and crystal balls, looks Blake right in the eye and says, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

*

_twenty-five_

“I can’t believe you guys talked me into wearing this,” Yang says, pacing in the atrium. She’s literally sweating. “I thought I was usually the one who has the stupid ideas. Turns out it’s you two idiots.”

“Insulting us won’t make you any calmer,” Weiss smirks.

Ruby grabs her sister’s arm. “Yeah, seriously, Yang, you look incredible! You’re gonna be the best-dressed person in there! People are gonna think you’re somebody famous!”

“Pyrrha should be the best-dressed person,” Yang grumbles. “It’s her engagement party.”

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room and barely suppresses a wail of misery. At the mall earlier that month, she’d been hoping to pick out something cheap at Forever 21, but Weiss had almost fainted at the suggestion. This dress is the third one she’d tried on at BCBG Max Azria, and it cost an entire week’s paycheck. It’s long-sleeved, short, and pale gold, shimmering, short, ending in a tulip hem. (Yang had never heard the phrase “tulip hem” in her entire life until Weiss had squealed it in the fitting room.) It was also ridiculously low-cut. Normally, Yang doesn’t particularly care if she’s walking around with her boobs spilling out, but this dress… Jesus.

“You’re so pretty, Yang,” Ruby says encouragingly, twirling a lock of her sister’s long blonde hair around her finger. Weiss had attacked her with a curling wand back at the apartment. “Seriously, you look amazing! Don’t be nervous!”

Yang bites her bottom lip. She _knows_ she looks good. Not even good -- she’s an absolute fucking vision, and she’s well aware. That’s never been the problem. Being pretty doesn’t win your battles for you. You still have to fight.

She’s not sure she’s up for a fight tonight.

“Let’s just go in,” she sighs.

They step through the oak doors, heels clacking against the marble floor; somehow, Weiss had convinced Ruby to borrow a pair of her Manolo Blahniks. Yang walks faster than the two of them, ensuring that she’ll be the first to enter the room. If she’s really going through with this, she’s not going to half-ass it.

The doors lead outside to a lush botanical garden, completely enclosed in glass to keep out the cold. String lights hang from the trees: grand elms with orange and yellow leaves, dramatic weeping willows. A cobblestone path twines through the lush emerald grass. Little tables have been set up here and there, and waiters weave expertly through the crowd with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes.

“This is so fancy!” Ruby squeaks, balling her hands into fists with excitement and bouncing up and down. “I know Pyrrha said her mom’s going all in with the fancy party stuff, but seriously, this is awesome!”

Pyrrha is easy to spot in the crowd, chatting with Ren and Nora while holding tightly to Jaune’s hand. Uncharacteristically, her brilliant red hair is down and straightened, and she’s wearing a simple white cocktail dress and wedges. Yang gulps. _Definitely_ overdressed.

They head toward her, recognizing a few faces; Yang met most of Pyrrha’s family at graduation, and all of Jaune’s. His sister Saphron waves enthusiastically at their group, but she’s preoccupied with her toddler son, who’s squirming in her arms and attempting to eat an entire plate of sliders. Numerous college acquaintances are scattered throughout the garden; Pyrrha had played about a million sports. Yang always assumed she knew more than half the student body.

As they walk, she stares intently around the garden -- as intently as she can without arousing Weiss’s suspicion. It’s late afternoon, almost sunset, and the sky blazes in pink and orange like a firestorm. Light reflects against the glass, warming the room, picking up the gold of Yang’s hair, the glitter in her dress. She’s a supernova, and Blake isn’t here to see it, and that thought does something confusing to her body: her shoulders sag with relief, but her heart clenches, walled off in iron.

 _If she’s not here,_ Yang tells herself, _I can finally relax._

“I don’t think she’s here,” Weiss whispers in Yang’s ear, as though she can hear her thoughts. She sounds disappointed. But they’ve finally reached Pyrrha and Jaune, so Yang’s saved from having to respond.

“Hey, vomit boy!” Ruby shrieks, hurling herself at Jaune; he laughs good-naturedly and lifts her, spinning her around like she’s still a tiny sixteen-year-old visiting Yang at college. Smiling at the greeting, Pyrrha wraps Weiss in a tight hug, then Yang.

“Thank you both so much for coming! You look gorgeous. Yang, that dress is…”

“I know,” she interrupts, waving a hand. She actually doesn’t intend to sound like a narcissist, but that’s how Weiss and Pyrrha take it, and they both burst out laughing.

“You look like you’re ready to hit the clubs!” Jaune exclaims, setting down Ruby and reaching over to high five Yang. When it’s Weiss’s turn, she gracefully turns the high five into a handshake. “I hope Pyrrha didn’t make you think this was some kinda black tie event.”

“No, no, she didn’t,” Yang says hurriedly. “Just had this dress lying around, and you know, figured I better get some use out of it.”

Weiss sneaks a glance at Yang out of the corner of her eye and must be able to tell that she’s sweating again, because she changes the subject at the speed of light. “This venue is beautiful, you guys. How did you find it?”

“Well, my sister-in-law Terra, she knows the owner,” Jaune begins to explain. Yang’s prepared to listen, or at least give it a good attempt, when she realizes that Pyrrha is staring over her shoulder. A slow, sunrise smile spreads across her face.

“Look,” she says softly, nodding at something -- someone -- Yang can’t see. Slowly, she turns.

Blake is making her way down the cobblestone path, and mercifully she hasn’t looked up and seen her yet, so Yang can stare at her as obviously as she wants, lavender eyes wide, hands trembling at her sides. She hasn’t held back on her outfit either: it’s a deep burgundy maxi dress, thin straps tight across her delicate shoulders, and the skirt is sheer and sweeping. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders in sleek black waves. She’s standing by one of the waiters, accepting a champagne flute from his tray. When she takes a sip from it, she tosses her head back and everything, everything, the sharp plane of her jaw, the pink flush in her cheeks, the spill of jet black hair down her back, hits Yang in a rush and nearly sends her to her knees.

A memory goes off in Yang’s mind like a camera flash: Blake at fourteen, head bent over a book, giant velvet bow perched on top of her head. Seventeen, helping Yang put on mascara, singing to a song on the radio, Blake’s lips so close to her cheek. Nineteen, lying face down on Yang’s bed in their dorm room, clutching her pillow and sobbing brokenly into it while Yang rubs slow circles across her back.

Miles away, Yang thinks, fault lines cracking across her heart. We’re miles away from where we’ve been.

Blake thanks the waiter and steps away, following the path. For a moment, she’s adjusting her flowing skirt, unaware of anything happening around her. But then she looks up slowly, and time skips and stutters just as an achingly soft ray of winter light breaks through the clouds and spills across the garden. She’s illuminated, her eyes glittering with gold, with tears, and if there ever was a red string of fate, Yang swears to God she feels it tighten.

Blake’s dark red lips part, just barely. And she says it like a prayer, like a recitation that’s made its home on her tongue.

“Yang?”

*

_sixteen_

“Blake!”

Yang jumps up and down on the sidewalk, waving her arms above her head. It’s only June, but already the temperature is crawling into the nineties; she’s wearing an orange tank top and an old pair of denim shorts, backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“I see you,” Blake says calmly, climbing out of the Uber that just dropped her off on Yang’s street. “You don’t need to put on a whole production.”

“Clearly you don’t know me very well.”

“I know you fine.” Blake pats her on the arm. She’s still in her Beacon uniform, hair tied back in a long ponytail. “Thanks again for letting me stay. My parents really appreciate it. Actually, I’m sure Mom will call your dad again tonight, so, you know, sorry in advance.”

“No problem. Dad’s excited that I’m finally hanging out with someone besides Weiss.” Yang smiles without realizing she’s doing it, and Blake falls into step beside her, heading down the street. “Where are your parents going, anyway? Something for business, right?”

“Yeah,” Blake sighs. “It’s a summit, so it’s not going to be exciting or anything, so they felt bad dragging me along. Usually when they go, they have me stay with a family friend, but…”

“But?”

Blake bites her lower lip, glancing at Yang once, then looking away. “They have a son, Adam. He’s… I guess he’s 21 now? But anyway, I know he’s home from college for the summer, and I just didn’t want to be around him.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can always stay with us. Hey, I should meet your parents sometime!”

She’s looking at Blake when she says it, so she gets a great view of the pink blush spreading across her pale cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she blinks fast. “Um, yeah. They want to meet you too.”

“Cool.” Yang pushes her bangs out of her eyes, changing the subject because it’s doing something weird to her stomach. They’re turning the corner now, heading up the winding driveway. “My sister will ask you a billion questions, by the way, so prepare yourself for that. And my uncle will probably offer you a shot of vodka.”

“Your family is way more interesting than mine.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.” Yang squints against the sun. There’s an unfamiliar car in the driveway, parked crookedly next to Tai’s dusty old pickup. It’s shiny and black and looks almost new. “Who the hell’s here?”

“Your uncle?”

Yang laughs. “Like he could afford something like that. C’mon. Maybe it’s one of my dad’s friends?”

They head up the front porch, Blake walking about a foot behind Yang. “Dad?” she calls, stomping through the entryway. “Hello? Dad? What’s that weird car in the driveway?”

Blake taps Yang on the shoulder, pointing toward the kitchen. She looks nervous. “Somebody’s in there,” she whispers.

Yang frowns and leads her in, dropping her backpack in the hallway. Blake steps over it.

“Is that my daughter?” A woman’s voice calls, and a chill shoots down Yang’s spine so quickly it’s like an electric shock.

The last time she saw Raven, Yang was ten, maybe eleven. She’s not the “just dropping in” type, and she’s most definitely not the archetype of a doting mother. Usually, Yang hears from her twice a year: a greeting card with cash on her birthday, a handful of gifts on Christmas that Tai obviously selected and wrapped. Raven sends him money almost every month, with some extra around the holidays so they can all pretend Yang’s presents are from her mother.

When she was little, Yang had really believed the gifts were from Raven, and had treasured them, hugging the stuffed animals, positioning the books and toys on places of honor in her room. _How did Mom know I wanted this?!_ she would exclaim to Tai, and he’d laugh uncomfortably and shrug. Around first grade, she’d put the pieces together. Tai was a good dad, but his plan was all wrong. Anything from Raven - a pair of socks, a box of Kleenex, a pencil - would’ve meant ten times more to her, because it would’ve actually been _from_ her.

This is when Yang is thinking about when she sees her mother standing in the kitchen, dark hair curled around her shoulders, leaning against the counter. There’s a triumphant look on her face that Yang hates. Detests.

“What the goddamn motherfucking shit is this?”

“Yang.” Blake digs an elbow into her ribs.

“I’m serious. Who invited you? What makes you think you can just walk in here?”

Raven takes a step forward. “Yang, I’m looking for your father. Any idea when he might be home?”

“I… are you fucking kidding me?” Yang’s arms fall to her sides. “No ‘hey, nice to see you, daughter I last interacted with six years ago!’ You’re just here to see Dad? Don’t you realize the amount of energy we all put into pretending you don’t exist?”

“Hello, Mrs…. Ms…. um, hello,” Blake stammers, thrusting out a hand. Raven smiles, surprised, and accepts the handshake. “I’m Blake Belladonna, Yang’s friend.”

“Well, it’s nice to see Yang with some new friends. You’re not still hanging out with that brat from your ballet class, are you? The one with the…” Raven wrinkles her nose. “Platinum blonde hair? I was never sure that she was the best influence.”

“Weiss is my best friend.” Yang tries to say it normally, but it comes out like a growl. “And now that you’ve come into my house and insulted me, I think we’re done here.”

“I can go-” Blake starts to say. Raven holds up a hand.

“You’re very polite, but there’s no need to leave. Yang, you’re making our guest uncomfortable.”

“She’s not your guest! She’s mine. Where’s Dad, anyway?” She whips her head around, like maybe Tai’s hiding in the corner. As if on cue, the front door clicks.

“Yang?” Tai calls, entirely cheerful, oblivious. _Shit_ , that’s right, Yang thinks. He had some parent teacher conference with Ruby’s teacher today. She can hear her little sister talking, hanging her backpack on the hook in the hallway with a clatter. “You home, honey?”

“He doesn’t even know you’re here,” Yang says flatly, folding her arms across her chest. “Great. That’s gonna go over real well.”

Raven opens her mouth, but before she can retort, Tai steps through the kitchen doorway carrying a large paper bag of groceries. Which he promptly drops. Behind him, Ruby gives a little squeak. There’s a flash of reddish brown hair as she darts back into the entryway.

“Raven?” Tai asks, and Yang’s pleased to notice that there’s no fondness in his voice, no delight. He doesn’t usually swear in front of his daughters, but she can practically hear the expletives flying through his head. “I thought we’d agreed that you would arrange any visits over the phone. Did Qrow let you in?”

“He did,” Raven says, smug as ever. “He’s for some reason under the impression that a visit _was_ agreed upon.”

Tai sighs heavily. “Raven, I’d prefer not to discuss this in front of the girls.”

Yang’s stomach lurches when she realizes he doesn’t mean herself and Ruby -- he means herself and _Blake_.

“We’ll go, Dad,” Yang says, shooting Raven her dirtiest look. “I have no interest in hearing whatever this bitch has to say. C’mon, Blake.”

She grabs Blake’s hand, drags her out of the kitchen -- Blake chokes out an awkward “it was lovely to meet you” as they go -- and past Ruby, who’s still standing wide-eyed in the hall. Yang doesn’t let go until they reach her bedroom. In one leap, she lands on her bed, fighting against the mixture of despair and rage that threatens to overtake her.

Blake steps inside, closing the door behind her.

“I hate her,” Yang mumbles, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. If she makes herself small enough, as small as she feels, maybe she’ll finally just disappear. “Why was I never good enough for her? What did I ever even do? Why did she ever have a daughter if she was just gonna fucking abandon me?”

“Yang,” Blake says gently.

“I just hate her so much. I know that’s shitty to say about my own mother-”

Blake will probably say _no, it’s not shitty_ or _I understand how you must feel_ or _say whatever you need to say_ , Yang thinks. She waits for it. But Blake sits down on the edge of her bed and says quietly, “Summer was your mother.”

Yang’s eyes brim with tears - because she’s right, she’s _right_ , Summer is the one who made her cookies when she was upset, who helped with homework, who laughed at her stupid jokes, who bought her the perfect Christmas gifts, and in that moment, Yang misses her so much she can’t breathe. Raven is nothing to her. Nothing but a ghost.

She leans back on the bed, turning to look up at Blake. She’s already watching Yang, brushing dark hair out of her own eyes, and her expression is steady and calm. Belatedly, Yang notices that her left hand is dangerously close to Blake’s right. Maybe they both notice it at the same time, because Blake slides her hand over so their pinky fingers overlap.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Blake whispers, and Yang wonders how it’s possible that the sun is still shining and her heart is still beating when her entire universe has just blown apart and formed again.

*

_seventeen_

Yang has trouble coming up with a word to accurately describe her relationship with Blake. “Best friend” would seem obvious, but that’s Weiss, it’s always been Weiss, ever since that stupid ballet class when they were five. And the two of them were always polar opposites, doling out life advice one minute and bickering over something stupid the next. She can’t fight with Blake. It feels physically impossible. She just wants her around all the time, and when she’s not around, something’s out of balance. She’s not really Yang.

That summer, she turns seventeen on a Saturday. The past school year had been a whirlwind, some moments better than others -- a guy in her English Lit class had asked her out and she’d been horrified for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, and then Raven had decided to start visiting Tai. Never Yang. Never an apology or explanation for abandoning her only daughter.

“Dad thinks it’ll be good for me to go to college,” Yang says. She and Blake are sitting in the Belladonna’s living room, stretched out on the couch side by side, bare feet propped up on the ottoman. It’s about ninety-five degrees outside and the humidity is already making Yang exhausted. “Get away from all of this. Maybe if I have some space, I can try to forget that I have a mother who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me.”

“You don’t even have to go to college if you don’t want to,” Blake says. “Maybe you could just… move away?”

“Without you?” Yang asks, winking at her, and she doesn’t miss the pink blush spreading across Blake’s cheeks like watercolor. “No, but Dad and I had a talk about it, and there are more pros than cons. I definitely have the grades to at least get into the state schools, and Dad thinks I should challenge myself. Plus, if I go, Ruby will definitely wanna follow in my footsteps.”

There’s a noise in the hallway -- the front door swinging open, voices. Yang glances over at Blake, frowning. “I thought you said your parents were out?”

“They must be back.” Blake hops up, and Yang tries not to notice the spill of her ink black hair, the way her deep purple crop top rides up her stomach. “C’mon. You can finally meet them!”

“Blake?” A dark-haired woman steps around the corner into the living room, shopping bags in her arms. “Is that y-- oh, my goodness! Is this Yang?”

She says the name with such warmth and familiarity that Yang almost stares. Just in time, she catches herself. “Um, hi, yeah, that’s me. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Oh, sweetheart -- Ghira, take my bags -- honey, I’m so, so happy to finally meet you. You can call me Kali.” She unloads her stuff on Blake’s dad, an intimidatingly tall man with black hair just like his daughter’s. He catches Yang’s eye and smiles, nodding once in approval.

“Welcome, Yang. It’s nice to have you h--”

But Kali pushes past him, resting her hands on Yang’s cheeks as if she’s studying her features. “Beautiful, beautiful. I see what you meant, Blake--”

“Mom!” Blake exclaims, one hand flying up to cover her face.

“Sorry, sweetie, it’s just so lovely to finally get to meet you. Tell me, how’s your father doing? Your sister?”

“They’re good,” Yang says, slightly stunned. She can’t remember the last time anyone touched her in such a gentle, maternal way -- Summer, she guesses, over a decade ago. “Thanks so much for having me over.”

“Honey, of course. Blake, have you showed your friend around? Given her a tour?”

Blake twists her hair over her shoulder, staring at the ground. “She doesn’t need a _tour_ , Mom. We’re not on a cruise ship or something. But, um…” Kali’s giving her a strange look, eyes wide, and Blake starts talking faster. “I guess it wouldn’t help to show you around. Do you wanna, um, come with me, Yang?”

“Sure,” she says, barely suppressing a laugh. Kali waves them off, and Blake heads into the hallway, where it’s all dark wood paneling and summer sunshine spilling in through a skylight. It’s close to evening, so the light is warm and amber. The house is modern, but also has a jungle feel to it. Plants are everywhere: bursting out of ceramic pots, spilling from hanging baskets, twining around the windowsills. “Your house is really cool.”

“Thanks,” Blake shrugs. “I like yours though. It’s cozier.”

“Cramped is more like it.”

“Do you wanna see the backyard?” Blake asks abruptly. She’s focused on tying her hair back into a swinging ponytail, not meeting Yang’s eyes. When she nods, the two of them head toward the southern end of the house. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Yang can see so much green, trees rippling in the wind. The sun’s starting to set, streaking the sky with pinks and yellows, and at first when they walk out onto the porch that’s all Yang can see.

“ _Surprise!!_ ”

Yang’s jaw drops; Blake, grinning, pulls her to the edge of the porch where they can look out over the sprawling, tree-lined backyard. Beach blankets are spread out in the grass, yellow and red balloons tied to branches. Weiss is waving at her and Ruby’s jumping up and down next to an oak picnic table stacked with pizza boxes. The backyard’s packed with their friends; Yang’s from school, some of the kids from Beacon she’s met over the years.

“Oh my god!” Yang bursts out laughing and immediately turns to Blake. “Oh my _god_! Nobody’s ever had a surprise party for me before! Did you plan this?”

Blake’s cheeks are brilliant pink. “It was mostly Weiss.”

“Well, I gotta go thank her.” Yang runs down the porch steps, golden hair flying, and wraps her best friend in a hug.

“Happy birthday!” Weiss says, actually letting Yang hug her for a second longer than usual. “I’m sorry about the decor. I wanted to do a little more, but there’s only so much you can do in a yard.”

“Yes, for shame. This is terrible,” Yang says dryly. “How’d you pull this off, anyway? Did you remember that I always wanted a surprise party?”

“Oh, it was mostly Blake. By the time I approached her, she had pretty much everything worked out.” Weiss folds her arms, watching Blake greeting their friends over by the picnic table. “It might be time for a refresher course on who your _real_ best friend is. You know, the one who was there when you lost your first tooth, when you first got your period--”

“Okay, enough!” Yang holds up her hand. She laughs and tries to make it sound natural, but her mind is racing. _It was mostly Blake?_

Up on the porch, Kali walks out of the screen door carrying a cake on -- embarrassingly -- a silver platter. It’s red velvet with cream cheese frosting, her favorite. Did Blake figure that out somehow, or did Ruby tell her? Blake’s mom sets the platter on the picnic table and lights the candles, beckoning Yang over to stand by her side. Which she does, swallowing against the lump forming in her throat.

Everyone sings, Ruby hugs her tight, and Kali brushes her blonde bangs out of her eyes, telling her softly, “Happy birthday, honey.”

-

The party goes until nighttime, music blasting from Ruby’s portable speaker, Weiss corralling everyone into a too-intense game of Twister before everybody loses interest and settles in front of the backyard firepit. Kali brings out marshmallows and chocolate and graham crackers, handing out paper plates like a girl scout troop leader. Yang tries to imagine Raven ever doing something like that for her when she was little; it’s a laughable thought.

Around nine, Tai swings by to pick up Ruby, wrapping Yang in a tight hug, lifting her feet off the ground. Blake’s climbing the porch stairs, following Kali who’s waving her into the kitchen, but she seems to sense Tai’s presence and turns around, framed in the doorway with warm light glowing behind her like a halo. She smiles widely; they wave at each other.

“That Blake,” Tai says, one hand on Yang’s shoulder.

Yang looks up at her father, waiting for him to elaborate. “That Blake what?”

“Just happy to see you making new friends.” He smiles, unreadable. “Happy birthday, little dragon.”

“I really hate that name, just so you know.”

“Okay,” Tai says, and ruffles her hair. “Kali told me you’re spending the night here. Come home for dinner tomorrow night, okay? Remember you’ve still got a family?”

“Duh, Dad,” Yang laughs. But she watches him leave with Ruby, shellshocked. Sometimes she really feels like she has perfect control over her emotions, wielding them expertly like a weapon, elegantly controlling her own life. It’s moments like these that remind her she’s really just freewheeling.

-

As the last few guests are leaving, Yang realizes that Blake still hasn’t reappeared. She trudges up the stairs and into the house, glancing into empty rooms; Ghira’s doing the dishes and suggests Yang check upstairs. Sure enough, her bathroom door’s closed. Yang raps her knuckles on the oak door. She’s still not totally comfortable in this house yet.

“Blake?” she calls. “It’s me. Um, just wondering where you are.”

Silence. Then, so quietly she almost misses it: “you can come in.”

Yang creaks the door open, finding Blake leaning over the sink, head down. Her shoulders are shaking. The sight nearly knocks Yang to the floor. Her mind whites out, every thought ripped away and replaced with _Why? What’s wrong? Did I do something? Did someone else do something? Who hurt you? I’ll kill whoever hurt you_.

She realizes too late that she said the last sentence out loud.

Blake chokes out a laugh, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “Please don’t kill anyone.”

 _But whoever hurt you deserves to suffer_ , Yang thinks. She turns it over in her mind and replaces it with the more appropriate, “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I love you so much,” Blake says, and Yang’s lungs collapse, air knocked clean out of her like a punch to the stomach. She stares and stares, lavender eyes wide, like maybe if she waits and doesn’t blink, that moment will stretch and expand and she can live inside it forever.

Blake looks miserably up at her own reflection, black mascara tracing watercolor shadows under her golden eyes. Her shaking arms grip either side of the porcelain sink. Without stopping to censor herself, Yang grabs her shoulders and spins her around; she means it to be gentle, like something comforting a good friend would do, but her body doesn’t get the message. Blake lets out a little gasp. Her eyes flicker up to meet Yang’s.

“Tell me whoever hurt you,” Yang says, eyes narrowing, voice low. “And I will stab them.”

She’s not trying to be funny, but Blake bursts out laughing and leans into her, arms twining around her waist. Her hair is in Yang’s face, soft waves of black, and up close she can see notes of dark blue, dark purple, like an oil painting, and she smells like shampoo… grapefruit, freesia, something else. She’s shorter. Three, maybe four inches? Yang hadn’t really noticed before. She can’t really notice anything now. It’s suddenly difficult to keep herself standing upright. Slowly, she wraps her arms around Blake’s back, rubs in slow circles. When she speaks again, her voice is hoarse, a shadow.

“I’m serious. I could kick anyone’s ass, ya know.”

“Of course you could,” Blake mumbles, and Yang can feel her lips against her bare shoulder, quirking into a smile.

“I’ll kick your ass.”

“I really don’t think you will.”

*

_twenty-five_

The engagement party crowd disintegrates, or maybe they’ve just backed away, making space. Yang will wonder later if Weiss orchestrated this, or maybe Pyrrha, though surely she had better things to worry about. Time slows like the bridge of a song. She and Blake are the only two people in the world.

“Please don’t tell me that I look good,” Yang blurts out. _Why? Why did I say_ that _?_

Fortunately, Blake laughs, one hand covering her mouth. Her nails are painted an elegant black. “Do you want me to tell you that you look terrible?”

“Yeah. Please. Anything else is just predictable.”

“Okay.” Blake frowns in concentration, thinking hard. “You look like shit.”

Yang grins and snatches Blake’s champagne glass out of her hand, taking a sip. It’s almost perfect. It’s almost five years ago, their world glowing with a warm halcyon light, desperately in love while the remains of the universe are strewn around them.

“Continue,” Yang says, and she doesn’t just mean _keep teasing me_ , she means _please, God, whatever higher power exists, please don’t let this ever end_.

“You’re hideous.” Blake’s smile softens. She steps closer, burgundy skirt billowing around her legs. “That dress is so ugly I could rip it right off you.”

“I forgot how smooth you are.”

Blake shakes her head like she can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “I know you’re being sarcastic. I was never the smooth one.”

“Yeah, that was me,” Yang agrees. Then, after another gulp of champagne: “it’s nice to see you again.”

Several emotions flash across Blake’s face, but as good a communicator Yang is, she had never entirely figured out how to read Blake. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. Blake’s was always tucked in her back pocket, and when anyone reached for it, she’d pull away. She’d run.

The two of them stand in silence for a moment. Yang hands Blake her glass, and she sips at it slowly, eyes serious. She wears more makeup now. Darker mascara that makes her lashes impossibly long and smokey, a scattering of dark brown glitter shadow on her eyelids. There’s almost something frighteningly beautiful about her now, and it throws Yang off her game. She was never afraid of Blake before.

“If we’re being serious, I don’t really know what to say,” Blake admits finally. “I knew you would be here, but…”

“Did you?” Yang’s eyebrows shoot up with interest.

“Of course. I mean, I love Pyrrha and Jaune, so I would’ve come regardless. But I wanted…” She trails off.

“If you wanted to see me, you could’ve called.”

“I know.”

“Or texted. Or tweeted. Or used, like, fucking Facebook Messenger. Sent up smoke signals. A carrier pigeon.”

“Yang, I _know_.” Her voice sharpens, and Yang’s eyes widen, wounded.

“Look,” she says flatly, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m not the one who ran. I’m not the one who made up her mind five years ago that she was too good for everyone in her entire world.”

“Oh, that’s what I think you did?”

“That’s what I _know_ you did.” A roar of anger kicks up in Yang’s heart, a fire she’s suppressed for years. Looking into Blake’s eyes does nothing but fan the flames. “Do you even know what it’s like to be left? The first one - maybe that’s normal, the price of living. The second one - maybe you’re unlucky. The third one? You start to wonder if you’re fucking cursed.”

“Yang…”

“You knew all that about me,” Yang hisses, arms falling to her side. “You knew about Raven, and Summer, and everything I’ve been through. And you just walked away without a word like I wasn’t going to feel anything. What’d you think was gonna happen? I’d just shrug my shoulders and be fine?”

Tears shimmer in Blake’s eyes. “Yang, I was never trying to hurt you-”

“It doesn’t matter what you were trying to do.”

“I’ve waited five years for you to explain this.” Blake swallows hard. “I wish you would give me the chance to. Don’t you ever think about how we used to be?”

 _A hundred times per day. A thousand. Ten million_. Yang shrugs. “I guess.”

“I think about it _all the time_. Why I left--”

“You never told me why,” Yang chokes out, and here they are, at the crux of it. “You left, and you didn’t--”

“Are you trying to tell me that I should have stayed? Being with me was hurting you, Yang. It was going to hurt you. I had to be on my own. I _had_ to.”

“On your own,” Yang repeats. She sighs, pulling back, and gold hair tumbles around her shoulders. “I know you always thought you were better off that way. Didn’t need any help, didn’t need a confidante, didn’t need someone to kiss you until you felt better. Oh, I remember all of it. I remember how I wanted to be there for you so badly it felt like my heart was literally going to beat out of my chest. I remember how you wouldn’t let me.”

Blake’s lower lip quivers; she hasn’t seen her close to tears in what feels like millennia. “I couldn’t be there anymore. For my own reasons.”

“What if I needed you there for me?” Yang shoots back.

“Please,” Blake says, and even though she’s trying to brush it off, it comes out like a plea. “You never needed me.”

*

_seventeen_

Their lives bleed together. Yang’s textbooks and sweatshirts and sneakers are strewn all over Blake’s bedroom; Blake keeps pajamas and a makeup bag in Yang’s dresser drawer. While Yang goes for her morning runs, Blake sits at the kitchen table with Tai and they talk about what she’s learning in her AP classes. Kali works in her garden while Yang sits in the grass cross-legged drinking tea and unloading all her emotional baggage. Raven doesn’t come back. When Adam’s in town, Blake hides at Yang’s.

That happens just before Christmas; it’s raining, freezing, and Yang hates that, wishes it would just snow. They’re caught in it on the way over to Yang’s house, running down the sidewalk laughing. Blake’s wearing a dark purple knit cap pulled down low, hair streaming like a banner behind her, and Yang almost trips in her totally weather-inappropriate leather boots. Slick ice coats the driveway and they slide together, shrieking, grabbing at each other when they start to slip.

“You don’t care if I stay?” Blake asks breathlessly when they trip into the entryway, kicking off their shoes, dropping their scarves and hats and coats into a pile.

Something about the gray weather, the thrill of hiding from something that scares Blake, the icy rain pounding against the windows -- it all stirs something in Yang, and she grabs her wrist and runs for the stairs. No one’s home. She’s too aware of it. Blake’s laughing hysterically behind her, black hair soaking wet and framing her face, and Yang shoves her gently into the upstairs bathroom.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia,” she says, breathing hard, either from laughing or running, she can’t tell. She pushes past Blake to turn the shower up, the hottest it’ll go, and doesn’t think to switch on the fan. The only light comes streaming in gray and dull through a high picture window above the sink. “Seriously, your lips are turning blue.”

“No, they’re not!” Blake giggles.

“Oh my god!” Yang cries in mock horror, grabbing Blake’s hands in hers. “Your hands are totally numb! Your teeth are chattering! Guess you better get in the shower!”

“Yang!” she shrieks, laughing uncontrollably - Yang’s never been drunk, but she thinks it probably makes you act something like this. “I’m not getting in the shower in my clothes!”

“Suit yourself.” Ignoring Blake’s _oh my GOD_ ’s, Yang climbs into the shower in her jeans and orange t-shirt. The hot water hits her like lava, splashing over her head, and she makes a face at Blake, who’s doubled over in laughter now. “It’s like a sauna in here! You’re missing out.”

“You’re insane,” Blake says, and to Yang’s utter shock, she pulls her black sweater over her head and drops it on the linoleum floor. Underneath, she’s wearing a thin white tank top and leggings. She pushes back the shower curtain and steps inside. “Come on, you have to let me under now, or I really _am_ gonna freeze to death.”

Her cold hands brush against Yang’s arm and her heart stutters. For the first time, Blake looks back at her, like she felt something too, an electric current, a wildfire, a crack in the universe. Something flickers in her golden eyes, and Yang can read it like writing on the wall: surprise. _What have we become to each other?_

They both stand still, pressing closer together beneath the waterfall. With one shaking hand, Blake pushes her soaking wet bangs out of her eyes. She’s breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling, and when Yang notices that the fabric of her tank top is getting more see-through by the moment, she almost passes out. The room is suffocating with humidity, fog on the glass of the mirror, the window.

 _I could die like this,_ Yang thinks, _and that would probably be okay._

In the following years she will analyze this moment until it breaks apart, slips through her fingers like a dream she can’t remember. But she won’t ever find the answer. One of them closes the distance first. One of them twines her fingers through the other’s hair. She can never remember who it was, but she remembers the sudden desperation, the cliche of fireworks, the triumph and despair of everything ending and beginning at once. She remembers the water streaming down her back, the sound of their gasps, the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears. She remembers the way Blake tastes.

“No, I don’t care if you stay,” Yang breaths against Blake’s mouth, ragged, half-laughing but mostly serious. “I only care if you leave.”

*

_twenty-five_

“I never needed you,” Yang repeats flatly. “Right.”

“Look, things were a little out of control.” Blake finishes her champagne, avoiding Yang’s gaze. “I was… a little dramatic back then.”

The two of them in the coffee shop, face to face. _I think we’ve been together many, many times._ Nightmares, red and black. Flashes of light. Pain that tore her out of sleep, screaming. The dark-haired girl who was real, who threw herself in front of Yang to save her life. The universe splits apart and reforms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yang says. “So was I.”

_We talked about this, Blake. I still think about it all the time. There was another life where I bled for you, where you ran from what you’d done. There was another life where I cursed your name and worshipped it in the same breath. There was another life where you came back to me and instead of knotting my fingers through yours and kissing you until the world ended, I looked at you once and nodded like it was nothing. Like we were nothing._

Out loud, of course, she doesn’t say anything at all.

She walks away.

*

_eighteen_

“Explain it to me again,” Weiss says. She and Yang are sitting in the grassy quad at the center of Atlas University, textbooks and notebooks and school supplies spread out between them. Yang’s already finished all of her homework for the weekend, but Weiss is clearly preoccupied. “You guys kissed… what was it? Six months ago?”

“I think it was ten.” Yang stares down at her notebook, where she’s doodling aimlessly in the margins of her Psych 101 notes. “But it’s no big deal. It was just a kiss. People kiss all the time.”

“Yes, _people_ do. You and Blake aren’t people.”

Yang snorts. “We’re not?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Weiss waves a dismissive hand. “Not normal people. The fact that you could just kiss each other and then go back to the way things were?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s gone back. There’s always some weird energy when she’s around me. Don’t you notice that?”

Weiss rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Somebody could be blind and deaf and still notice how freaking weird you guys are when you’re together. If you like her, just ask her out! What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not that simple. Like I said. She probably doesn’t even like me.” Yang chews on her lower lip, dangerously close to vulnerability. She can’t have that. “It was just kissing. Kissing doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Oh-kay,” Weiss drawls, turning back to her homework. “I can tell that you totally believe that.”

-

There’s a party that night in the dorm next to theirs. Yang and Weiss are onboard immediately, but Blake needs a little more convincing. She’s sitting on her bed when they walk in, a book open in her lap. Somehow, she’d been assigned a single, and both of her walls are decorated with giant purple tapestries; sitting in front of it, Yang thinks she looks like a painting of royalty.

“ _Please_ , Blake,” Yang says dramatically, flinging herself to her knees in front of Blake’s bed. She clasps her hands in prayer and leans up against her duvet, elbows digging into the mattress. Weiss leans up against the open door, checking every few seconds to make sure no one in the hallway is witnessing this embarrassing display. “Please come with us to the party.”

Blake closes her book and looks up, close-lipped smile already spreading across her face. “You’re acting like if I don’t go, you’ll die.”

“I will.” Yang topples recklessly backward onto the floor, her head missing the corner of the bedside table by inches. “Look, it’s starting already. I can feel the life draining from me.”

“Uh huh,” Blake nods and leans back against her pillows. “This is a tragedy.”

“Blake…” Yang croaks, making horrible death rattle sounds in between words. “If… I have to die here… at least your face… will be the last thing… I see…”

“Jesus Christ,” Weiss mutters from the doorway.

Yang lets her eyes flutter shut and she lies still, limbs bent at awkward angles. Silence. She holds her breath.

“Well, look at that,” Blake says dryly. “Weiss, she really did die. That’s a bummer. Do you have a sheet or something we can use to cover the body?”

“I’m not participating in this stupidity.”

Yang lies still for another moment, barely holding back a laugh, and then Blake’s hands are on her. Shocked, her eyes pop open. Blake gives her an evil grin, looping one arm around her waist like she’s trying to pick her up.

“Oh, she’s alive!” Blake exclaims right by her ear, and Yang shrieks involuntarily when her feet leave the ground. “It’s a miracle! Yang Xiao Long, back from the dead!”

“How are you even lifting me? I’m stronger th--” Blake sets her back on the floor and immediately starts tickling under her arms, which sends Yang collapsing back to the ground in a hysterical fit. “This is torture! What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop torturing me!”

Blake laughs, bending over her, black hair tumbling across Yang’s face. “God, I’m just so happy you’re alive - I guess I have to go to the party now. Can’t risk you dying on me again.”

Weiss stares down at Yang, who’s rolling across the floor screaming and flailing all her limbs, and sighs. “Sure,” she says to herself, and Yang only registers later what she said. “Kissing doesn’t mean anything.”

-

Yang wants to ride her bike to the party. It’s her pride and joy, a yellow and black mountain bike that Tai had gifted her when she left for college, probably hoping it would help her get to class on time. On the first day of school, she’d nicknamed it Bumblebee.

“I can list about twenty reasons why that’s a bad idea,” Blake says as the three of them head out of the dorm, past the bike rack. “First being, of course, that we’re only going next door.”

“I like biking everywhere!”

“Second,” Weiss chimes in, “if you ride that thing when you’re drunk, you’ll smash your head open on the pavement.”

“Graphic,” Yang says, but she has to admit Weiss has a point. She’s drank plenty of beers with Qrow when Tai wasn’t around, but she’s never been drunk before. How can she possibly predict how it’s going to make her act? Her stomach lurches and she’s seized with the weirdest urge to take Blake’s hand. She stuffs them in the back pockets of her black jeans instead.

The party is in the dorm basement, probably to fit in the maximum amount of students while maintaining a respectable noise level. They recognize Ren and Nora immediately -- Ren actually goes to school the next town over, but comes to visit Nora on weekends -- and Yang’s new friend from her Psych class, Pyrrha Nikos, runs up to hug her hello. There’s a flurry of introductions as she meets Blake and Weiss, and then a blond guy wanders over, waving hello.

“This is my friend Jaune,” Pyrrha says, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re taking our phys ed credit together this semester.”

“Can you believe we’re in college and we still have to take gym?” Jaune asks, rhetorically and good-naturedly, as he shakes everyone’s hands. He’s clutching a red Solo cup.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Yang asks, trying to act like this is a question she asks people every day.

“Vodka and Red Bull. Want one?”

Yang opens her mouth to respond, but to her surprise, Blake speaks up first. “I was going to pick out something for her, actually. Where’s everything set up?”

Jaune points out a folding table set up in the far right corner. Someone had set up a lava lamp amongst the bottles to brighten up the basement a little. “This kid Neptune brought everything. Ridiculous, huh?”

If she’d been alone, Yang probably would’ve just grabbed a can of PBR or Blue Moon and called it a day -- at least she knew how those tasted, which ones she preferred. But Blake immediately jumps in, rearranging the bottles, reading labels.

“Do you want something that’s kind of sweet? Or more bitter? Oh, looks like somebody brought shot glasses,” she adds, grabbing a cheap plastic glass from the top of a tall stack.

“Yes!” Yang exclaims vehemently. She’s not sure why, since she’s never done a shot in her entire life. “I wanna do shots.”

“Okay,” Blake says, amused. “Of what, exactly?”

Yang inspects the bottles while Blake starts making her own drink, cracking open a can of Coke and filling a red Solo cup before carefully measuring two shots of Jack Daniels. After a second of consideration, she adds another half shot.

“Fireball,” Yang announces, pouring some into her own shot glass. It’s filled to the brink. She’s acutely aware that Blake’s watching her, Blake with her sparkling golden eyes and long hair falling in waves down to her chest, t-shirt sliding off one slender shoulder. Her head’s cocked to the side, a soft smile blooming, and these are the times that Yang wonders _maybe, maybe if I play my cards right. Maybe this is where we split the universe this time._

She lifts the little plastic cup to her lips and knocks the shot back, fast. Not fast enough. Only about half actually makes it down her throat, and she gulps the rest. It’s disgusting. Every single ounce of her self-restraint goes into making sure she doesn’t cough. Casually, she leans against the table, shaking out her hair so it tumbles down her back. She squares her shoulders, making confident eye contact with Blake.

“One down.” She absolutely forces the words out past the burning in her throat.

Blake raises her eyebrows, smiling. “I should’ve known you’d be a Fireball girl.”

Yang isn’t quite sure what to do with that, so she pours herself another shot. “Where’d you learn so much about alcohol, anyway? You drink all the time at home?”

“Sometimes,” Blake shrugs. “At Adam’s.”

Yang wrinkles her nose, then does the second shot before she can overthink it. This one goes down easier. Maybe she’s getting the hang of it. “What’s the deal with that guy, anyway? Why did you ever even go over to his house if you were scared of him?”

“Things weren’t always the way they are now. Our parents met when I was about twelve… it was just his father by then, because his mom died when he was young.” Blake pours her a third shot, then the two of them wander away from the table, which is starting to get crowded. Across the basement, an ancient pool table sits in a corner. She leans up against it. “His father’s a pretty powerful lawyer, so dad met him through work and realized they had similar political leanings. Adam was pretty much born to follow in his footsteps. Then his father remarried, and they started having us over for dinner all the time. Since we’re both only children, I guess everyone expected us to be friends.”

“Friends?” Yang can already feel the alcohol churning in her stomach, and she slaps a hand on the pool table to steady herself. “Isn’t he, like… way older than you?”

“He was seventeen when I was twelve,” Blake says, smile twisting.

“And your parents were cool with that? What did you guys even talk about?”

“Parents can be pretty blind to stuff like that sometimes. They saw me as intelligent, mature for my age, talking to another kid about things like literature, philosophy, politics. It was normal for me, in their eyes, so they didn’t worry.” She pauses, taking a sip of her drink. “It didn’t get really weird until I was maybe… sixteen, I think. The month I turned sixteen. He was home on break with his old friends from Beacon, and they wanted to drink because they were finally twenty-one and could buy stuff. He called me.”

Yang’s lavender eyes widen. “And you came?”

“I always came when he called back then.” Blake scowls at the memory, setting her drink down on the pool table. Yang waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Music thumps from the stereo. Someone breaks a glass; it shatters on the cement floor. The look in Blake’s eyes is unbearable.

“Hey,” Yang says, snapping the tension. Blake looks up at her. “Dare me to take another shot.”

“How many have you had again?”

“Three.”

“Oh, you’re just getting started,” Blake says, and all of a sudden she’s grinning. There’s something mischievous in that smile that makes Yang nervous and excited in the same breath. Blake downs the rest of her Jack and Coke and heads for the liquor table, Yang trailing behind her with her cheap plastic shot glass still in hand.

Weiss is sitting on a folding chair looking wildly out of place in her white button down blouse and light blue cotton skirt. She’s trying hard to look bored and aloof, a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in one hand. Yang knows her best friend had been drinking red wine at fancy family dinners since she was ten, so she didn’t have her pegged as a lightweight, but there’s already a weird, dreamy look on her face. Another girl sits next to her, a brunette with a ponytail wearing all black.

“Hey Yang,” she says, tilting her head back. Pale blonde hair hangs loose down her back; for once, she’s taken it out of its usual ponytail. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Yang says truthfully. Blake’s rummaging around at the table behind her. “Waiting for Blake. You having fun?”

“This party’s lame. That Jaune guy’s already thrown up in the corner twice.”

“Eww. Vomit boy,” Yang says, unintentionally coining a nickname that will follow him for the next ten years of their lives. She glances at the girl beside Weiss. “Hey, who’s…”

“Hi,” the brunette girl says, turning to look up at Yang, and she immediately recognizes her freckled face. “You’re Yang? I’ve heard about you. My name’s Ilia.”

“Oh, yeah! You live in our hall, right? A couple doors down from Blake?”

“Yeah. She and I have a Lit class together.”

“Awesome. Hey, wh--” Blake materializes by her side, bottle of Fireball clutched in one hand. With her other hand, she links her fingers through Yang’s. “Um. Okay, I guess we’re going.”

Weiss’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Have fun.”

“You too,” Yang smirks, eyes flickering between Weiss and Ilia, but Weiss just rolls her eyes.

Blake leads her up the concrete steps, out the door into the windy night. The sky is midnight blue, silver stars scattered across a velvet blanket, moon full and brilliant white. They duck between the trees, dodging branches, until the grounds open up into an athletic field. It’s the very center of the residential part of campus; they’re so far from the city that the air is clear, the sky cloudless. Yang’s never seen so many stars.

They sit down in the grass side by side, and Yang immediately misses the warmth of Blake’s hand in hers like something’s been torn from her. Blake takes her shot glass and fills it, then pours one for herself.

“Do you remember what we talked about in Starbucks that one time?” she asks, squinting at the glass to make sure it’s level.

“When we were fourteen,” Yang confirms, accepting the plastic cup. She winces, smelling the cinnamon and anticipating it burning her throat. “Yeah, I do. You told me that whenever we make a life-altering decision, the universe… breaks apart. Reforms.”

“You believed me.”

Yang can’t tell if it’s a question. “Well, yeah.” She knocks back the shot, then makes a dramatic gagging noise, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s the only explanation.”

Blake watches her indulgently, then slowly slides closer. “Really?”

“Yeah. You never saw the dreams I used to have.” Yang shudders at the memory. She hasn’t had one of those nightmares in years, but she can still taste the fear, smell blood, feel the lightning-strike pain shooting up her arm. “It was so scary. Every night, I thought I was going to die. I thought he was going to kill me. But then you were there, and even when you ran away from me, you came back.”

“I would always come back for you.” Blake knocks back another shot, and when she looks at Yang, there’s something new in her eyes. Hesitation? “Look, right around Christmas--”

Yang’s heart seizes up. Even as the world blurs around her, she knows she can’t handle this conversation. Frantically, she points up at the sky.

“Look! It’s a shooting star!”

Blake narrows her eyes. “There’s no shooting star.”

“No, there was. You just missed it.”

“Okay, then what’d you wish for?”

“I wished for you to not ask me about when we kissed,” Yang blurts out. She flops back in the grass; that way, Blake can’t look at her directly.

Or so she thinks.

Blake rolls on top of her, laughing, bracing herself with her elbows in the dirt. She’s wearing black leggings and a loose gray t-shirt and she cups Yang’s face in her freezing cold hands, and Yang can smell freesia, cinnamon, cold mountain air.

“You’re crazy,” Yang says, spitting black hair out of her mouth. “And if you tickle me again, I _will_ kill you.”

“I’m not gonna tickle you.” She stares down at Yang and Yang looks back up at her, blinking slowly. The world is spinning. She’s grateful for the ground against her back, because if she weren’t lying down, she surely would’ve collapsed by now.

A rush of emotion gathers in her chest -- she thinks about little Blake with the bow in her hair, Blake crammed next to her on the couch doing homework, listening to her cry about Raven, sprawled out on her bedroom floor in a sleeping bag. She thinks about the times Blake would cry quietly into her pillow when she slept over and Yang would start to ask, then stop, words dying on her lips, tears forming in her own eyes. That time just before Christmas, scalding water pouring over both of them, steam clouding her mind as Blake’s tongue slid into her mouth.

“Fuck it,” Yang says, shaking her head to clear it of the memory. She grabs Blake roughly, fingers locking around her upper arm muscles, and flips her over, catching Blake’s lower lip between her teeth. She surprises the hell out of herself, and Blake too, who makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, arching her back against the ground.

Maybe Yang’s inexperienced with drinking, but she’s sure as hell not going to be a bad kisser. She weaves her fingers through Blake’s dark hair, scratching her nails lightly against her scalp, kissing her gently at first. Fire courses through her veins, flooding her body with heat, and she runs her tongue slowly along Blake’s lower lip; she slides her hands up under Yang’s t-shirt in response, fingertips pressing against her spine. She buries her face in the space between Blake’s neck and shoulder, sucking and biting hard just above her collarbone until a purple-red bruise blooms across her pale skin; she trails further up her neck, her own heart pounding, slamming against her ribcage. Blake breathes louder, louder, until it sounds like she’s almost sobbing. _Everyone will know_ , Yang thinks feverishly. _Everyone will see this, and they’ll know you belong to me_.

Yang stops to catch her breath, forehead pressed against Blake’s; her eyes are shut tight, dark lashes fanning across her porcelain cheeks. She’s saying something, whispering it over and over again, but Yang can’t hear over the racing of her own heart. Once more, she presses her lips to Blake’s, kissing her deeply, then pulls back.

“Always knew you were a bottom,” she says, winking, with the evilest grin she can muster.

Blake stares up at her, golden eyes sparkling in the moonlight. For a moment, she reaches for words, for the ability to speak. “You gotta drink whisky more often,” she slurs, and twines her fingers through Yang’s golden hair, pulling her head back down.

*

_twenty-five_

Yang walks straight out of the engagement party, doesn’t look back until she reaches the parking lot. Then she sits down on the edge of the curb, legs stretched out in front of her, and stops fighting. Hot tears splash down her cheeks and she buries her face in her hands; behind her eyelids, galaxies burst and explode, stars burn out and die and fall through the black, the universe cracks in two.

 _What fucking decision did I make that led me here?_ she thinks. _How do I go back?_

Someone appears behind her, a gentle hand on her shoulder; for a split second, her heart leaps, but she recognizes the weight, the gesture.

“Leave me alone, Weiss,” she says, wiping traces of mascara from underneath her eyes.

Weiss lets go, stands there for another long moment. “Give her time,” she says finally. Then she heads back inside. Yang listens for the closing of the door.

Time, Yang thinks bitterly. They’ve had too much of it.

*

_nineteen_

It happens before Yang can even begin to prepare herself. She needs days, weeks, months of reflection, talks with Weiss, early morning runs where her thoughts can unravel and unspool with every step she pounds against the pavement. Instead, there’s no warning.

The first week of their sophomore fall semester is unseasonably cool, so Yang’s wearing a sweater, jeans, and tall brown boots on her way to class. Her hair is still damp from the shower. Typical morning thoughts occupy her mind: wishing she had coffee, wondering how hard this Stat class is actually going to be, why does she have to take so many math classes anyway? She doesn’t see the man crossing her path until it’s too late; they crash into each other.

“Oh, shit,” Yang says, stumbling backward. “Sorry, that was totally my bad, are you--”

The word _okay_ dies on her lips. She knows him, she _knows_ him. He’s tall, dressed in black jeans and a dark denim jacket, eyes the exact color and temperature of ice. Slowly, he runs a hand through his auburn hair.

“You,” he says quietly, and she almost faints at the sound of his voice. The shadow from her nightmares.

Yang summons every ounce of courage, fights against the impulse to run and never stop. “I-I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”

“Yang Xiao Long,” he says, smug, crossing his arms. “Daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long and Raven Branwen, sister of Ruby Rose.” He recites her address. Yang’s eyes grow wider, trembling hands rising to grip the straps of her backpack. “I would say that I know you very well, little dragon.”

She swallows hard, taking a bracing step backward. “Just tell me what you want. I can scream and people will come running.”

He shrugs. “You can try that. Or you can give me what I want.”

“This intimidation thing’s not gonna work on me,” she snaps. “So just tell me who you are.”

“Seems like it’s working a little bit,” he says casually, glancing at her shaking hands. “Adam Taurus. Pleasure to meet you. I’m sure you’ve heard about me?”

Bile rises in her throat. She fumbles for her phone in her back pocket, but of course today’s the day she decided to just toss it into her bag.

“Yeah, I have. You’ve got a real glowing reputation.”

“I’m sure Blake’s told you all kinds of lies. It’s what she does. Has she promised you she’ll be there for you forever? Or how about that she’ll never leave you? Has she gotten to that one yet?”

“None of your fucking business.”

Adam steps closer to her, smirking. “She’s a good kisser, isn’t she?”

Yang stares at him wordlessly.

“Here’s what I want,” he continues, cracking his knuckles. “Blake belongs to me. She knows it, and she agrees. I’ve been telling her for years. So I want you stay away from her.”

“What?”

“Believe me, Yang, it’s in your best interest.”

She folds her arms, jutting out her hip. “Sure,” she drawls. “I bet it is. Look, if she cared so much about you, if she really believed she belonged with you, wouldn’t she still _be_ with you? Sounds like a little bit of a one-sided relationship.”

“Blake’s got plenty of negative influences in her life. That _family_.” He rolls his eyes. Yang thinks of the Belladonnas, Ghira cooking her favorite foods every time she comes over, Kali wrapping her in a tight hug like she was her own daughter, and wants to deck Adam in the face. “Blake used to know what was good for her. In time, I think she’ll come around. But you, Yang…”

“I’m one of the negative influences,” she says dryly.

“If you don’t stay away from her,” Adam hisses, glaring down at her, “I’ll know.”

With that, he heads back up the path the way he came. Yang just stands there, staring at his retreating figure. The second he disappears, she sprints back to the dorm, bag slamming against her back.

_Blake belongs to me._

When she reaches the hallway, she finds Blake’s bedroom door still shut. Yang pounds on it with one fist, even knowing that making this kind of noise before ten in the morning almost guarantees a complaint from some girl in the hall. After about fifteen seconds, it swings open, revealing a half-asleep Blake.

“Yang?” Her eyes widen in surprise. Her tangled hair is pulled back with a scrunchie, and she’s wearing a low-cut black cami and a pair of flannel pajama pants that are a size too big, the waistband rolled up, hem dragging on the floor. She looks impossibly small, breakable. “Are you okay?”

She walks inside without waiting for an invitation, closing and locking Blake’s door behind her. Then she opens her arms wide. Blake walks into them, wrapping Yang in a hug, burying her face against her shoulder. She hasn’t even said a word, but she can tell that Blake feels her misery, her fear, that it’s sinking into her bones and becoming her own.

Blake pulls back, heading for the little bathroom attached to her room. She returns with a wrung-out cool washcloth; gently, she brushes Yang’s blonde bangs off her forehead and smooths the cloth across her face, wiping away smudged eyeliner, traces of mascara, sweat, tears. Then she tosses it aside and presses her forehead against Yang’s, eyes fluttering closed.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to,” she says quietly.

“No, it’s okay.” Yang sighs. “Look, can we talk about something?”

“Sure.”

They sit on Blake’s bed, side by side; Yang kicks off her boots before pulling her legs up under her. “This Adam guy,” she says.

Blake’s entire body stiffens.

“Look, I don’t want you to worry,” Yang says quickly, grabbing Blake’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Just… what’s his deal? Why is he so obsessed with you? I mean, not _why_. I can imagine why. But the crazy obsessive ex-boyfriend thing is just so…”

“Did he contact you or something?” Blake asks, her voice very small. “Is that - is that why you’re upset?”

“He, um… I think he’s been following me. He just showed up in front of me while I was walking to class.” Blake drops her hand. Yang forces herself to continue. “He was acting like he knew me. Like, _really_ knew me. All kinds of stuff about my life and my family…”

“Yang, what did you say to him?” Blake asks urgently.

She shrugs. “I dunno. He was being an idiot. Asking me to stay away from you.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think he was that pissed. He just walked away.”

But Blake’s shaking her head. “Yang, nothing’s ever simple where Adam’s concerned. If he comes back… I mean, I hope he won’t, but if he does, please promise me you’ll be careful. He’s dangerous.”

“It was kind of fun to piss him off,” Yang says, smirking, but it fades quickly when she sees the expression on Blake’s face.

“Yang, please. I’m dead serious. Piss off anybody else in the world, but please, please don’t make him your enemy.” She slumps back against her fluffy pillows, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. Why is he even coming after you? Why doesn’t he just come after me? Does he have people tailing us?”

It’s not the right moment for Yang to fixate on her use of “us,” but she does anyway, fizzy champagne happiness bubbling inside her chest. “I can’t answer any of that. I have no idea.” She pauses for a second, chewing her lower lip. “Did you guys actually date?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She raises her head, eyes glassy, and when she blinks, a single tear splashes down her cheek. “When I was younger, I just thought he was brilliant. Passionate. He knew _so_ much, and he told me all these sob stories about his life, his mother dying, his father abusing him. He wanted me to pity him, and it worked. I did all kinds of things to rearrange my life to please him. It was sick.”

“It wasn’t sick,” Yang says. “You can believe all kinds of stuff when you’re young.”

“So he asked you to stay away from me?” Blake asks quietly, picking at a loose thread on her comforter.

Yang fights to keep her tone casual. “I think he just wanted to know exactly what was going on between you and me.”

“And you told him…?”

“That it was none of his fucking business.”

Blake smiles, shoulders relaxing for the first time since Adam entered the conversation. “So you’re skipping your first class after all this, I’m guessing?”

Yang nods. The space heater beside Blake’s bed whirs to life and she stretches back, making herself comfortable. There’s something incredibly safe about the warmth of the room, something intimate about lying here next to Blake while she’s in her pajamas. Already, the clouds are dissipating, the storm breaking, and why had she ever even thought that some man, some asshole from Blake’s past, could separate them?

“Good,” Blake smiles. “Me neither.”

“I thought you had that Poli Sci class?”

“Who cares? It’s syllabus week. There are more important places for me to be.” She climbs off the bed and heads for the dresser, rooting through the drawers, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a gray tank top and passing them to Yang. There’s no discussion of the fact that her own clothes are literally across the hallway. They’ve been sharing clothes for years.

Yang smiles gratefully, tugging her sweater over her head, and Blake’s hands immediately fly up to her face.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says, whirling around so her back is to Yang. “I really thought you had something on under that. I would’ve turned around--”

“I’m wearing a bra, Blake.” Yang grins. “What’s wrong, have you never seen tits before?”

“Not besides my own.” Her voice is muffled.

Yang hops off the bed and pulls off her jeans, erasing Adam from her mind. What the hell can some preppy asshole boy even do to her? He doesn’t have security cameras installed in their rooms. Blake’s told her that he goes to college three hours away. What’s he going to do, drive to campus every day and tail her?

Screw him. She’s Yang Xiao Long, and she can do whatever the fuck she wants.

“Okay,” Yang says, tiptoeing up to Blake as quietly as she can. Blood pounds in her ears. “You can turn around now.”

Blake turns, nearly jumping out of her skin when she realizes how close Yang is -- a foot away, maybe less. She’s wearing nothing but her bra and black boyshort underwear, golden hair loose around her shoulders, falling into her eyes. She smiles triumphantly, jutting out her chin.

“Blake,” she says, and it sounds like a prayer. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

“T-tired of, um, what?”

“Tired of fucking around. Kissing each other, like, once a year. Never talking about how we really feel.”

“I guess I… hadn’t really thought about it.”

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Yang drawls, cocking her head to the side, hands on her hips. Blood rushes to Blake’s cheeks, her eyes skimming the floor. Someone should really give her a medal for not just tackling her right then and there, Yang thinks; she watches Blake search for a comeback, chewing her bottom lip, and Yang loves her so much, she loves every part of her, she wants to grab her and shake her and make her understand how goddamn beautiful her life is now that she gets to stand next to her every day.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” Yang closes the gap between them, looping her arms around Blake’s waist and watching her pupils expand, darken.

Blake swallows audibly. “What do you wanna do?”

“I might die if I don’t kiss you.”

“You’re always--” Blake starts, but Yang’s sick of talking.

She kisses her hard and fast and sudden, and this is familiar, like switching on the radio and finding your favorite song already playing. She knows how Blake tastes, knows the sounds she makes, the stuttering rhythm of her breathing when she’s turned on, the way she leans into Yang and lifts her jaw so she can suck on her pulse point. She purposefully keeps Blake in familiar territory for as long as she can physically stand it, tangling her hands through her hair, smoothing down over her waist, over her hips. Her fingers slide under the waistband of Blake’s pajama pants, ghosting across her underwear.

“JesusChristwhatareyoudoing,” Blake says in a rush, but she doesn’t pull away like Yang had anticipated; she presses closer, mouth open and panting against Yang’s.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing.” Yang grips her around the waist and pulls her down onto her own bed, sheets still tangled and warm. Blake’s golden eyes look almost glazed over; Yang gently pulls out her ponytail and tosses the scrunchie aside, watching waves of jet black cascade over Blake’s slender shoulders. “You’re so pretty. I always thought you were so beautiful, did you know that?”

“Um, I…” Blake’s thinking very hard, like this is a quiz Yang’s administering for her. Her lips are pink and swollen from kissing; Yang swipes her tongue against her bottom lip, sucking on it gently. Slowly, they fall back, Blake’s head hitting her pillow.

“Yang,” she whimpers, arching her back, and it hits Yang like deja vu: drunk kissing her in the wet grass outside the dorm, the moon hanging above them like a silver coin, the world at her fingertips. She slides her thigh in between Blake’s legs and somehow she’s shocked when Blake grinds against her, she’s always shocked when there’s an indication that maybe there’s a fire burning inside Blake’s chest mirroring the one she’s carried for centuries. “Please don’t stop.”

“Okay,” Yang whispers, tugging off Blake’s flannel pants, then her cami -- Blake helps her with that part, raising her arms and then falling back. Lowering her head again, Yang sucks on her collarbone, then trails painfully slowly down the arch of her breasts, her stomach muscles, the waistband of her underwear. Heat pools between her thighs and without realizing what she’s doing, she slides a hand between her own legs.

“Yang,” Blake says, muffling a laugh against her hand. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do.” Her breathing is ragged. “Why? You some kind of expert?”

“Not at all, but if you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, I will literally murder you.” She reaches down and wraps her fingers around Yang’s wrist, guiding her hand; her fingertips brush against the wet fabric of Blake’s underwear, and she moans without thinking about it, the kind of sound she never thought she’d be capable of making.

“Don’t go too fast,” Blake breathes as Yang presses closer to her, lips skimming her jaw line as her fingers dip beneath her waistband. “I want to feel everything.”

Yang slips one finger inside her, pressing her lips against Blake’s at the same time, and she can practically feel her falling to pieces, shattering glass, exploding supernovas. _We have never done this before_ , Yang thinks, and she slides a second finger inside her, moving faster, Blake’s thigh muscles tensing. How is that possible? They’ve loved each other since the first stars lit the sky.

Blake’s soaking wet, breathing faster, rocking her hips along with the motion of Yang’s hand, and for some reason, that’s the moment that Yang remembers them on her seventeenth birthday, Blake choking on tears _. I love you so much_ , she’d said. And Yang had never answered her. That was two years ago. Why didn’t she ever answer?

 _I’ve been wasting my life_ , she thinks, but she’s not bitter -- something lights inside of her. A glowing realization, filling her with warmth, with potential: _we have so much time ahead of us. We have so much time_.

Blake inhales sharply and grabs Yang’s shoulder, fingernails digging into her skin, leaving half-moon marks. Her knees slam together and she says Yang’s name in a voice she’s never heard before, never could have conjured in her imagination -- it’s a low moan and it makes Yang want to do things to Blake she’s never even contemplated. When it’s over, she slips her fingers out slowly -- Blake chokes on a gasp -- and sucks on them. Slowly. Blake watches her through heavy-lidded eyes like she’s seeing Yang for the very first time. Yang considers making fun of her (“don’t go too fast,” okay, yeah, whatever, she lasted about two minutes), but with that expression on Blake’s face, she can’t do anything but kiss her. Softer now, ghosting over the bruises that bloom up her chest and across her collarbones, the base of her throat where her pulse flutters. Reverently.

“Tell me I’m yours,” Blake whispers, low, the voice meant only for her. And Yang thinks of what she can and can’t have, what can slip away, of Adam’s jealousy and fury twisting themselves into threats to haunt her every waking moment. _He will never hurt her again,_ she thinks. _I’ll make sure of it._

“You don’t belong to anyone,” Yang answers, smoothing Blake’s bangs off her forehead and gazing down at her. “You’re free.”

Blake starts crying silently, tears sliding down her cheeks as she wraps her arms around Yang’s shoulders, pulling her closer. Yang pretends like she doesn’t know why.

*

_twenty-five_

Yang calls an Uber to take her back to the apartment, trusting that Weiss will handle all the damage control with Pyrrha, apologizing for her atrocious behavior. She’ll order them a really nice vase or something off their registry. Who cares? It’s only an engagement party. Not like she’s bailing on a wedding.

The sun has fully set by the time she gets home. She turns the key in the lock and it clicks open; she steps into the dark apartment and kicks off her heels, not caring enough to turn on the light. She drops her purse, borrowed from Ruby, on the living room floor, and lets the door slam behind her.

The bedroom light switches on.

Yang freezes, empty-handed, terrified. Who the fuck is in her house? And more importantly, what the fuck is she going to use to knock them out? Footsteps creak across the hardwood floor, a shadow falling across the bedroom threshold -- no time to dart into the kitchen and get a knife. She settles for one of her discarded shoes, holding it heel-up.

“Come out with your hands up,” she calls in her most threatening voice. “I have a weapon.”

“Since when do you wear Louboutins?” Blake asks, appearing in the doorway, still wearing her flowing burgundy dress from the party. Yang immediately drops the shoe to the ground again with a clatter, jaw falling open.

“Holy shit.” Yang stares at her, trying to catch her breath. “What’d you do, break in?”

“Weiss gave me her key.” She holds it up as evidence, then takes a deep breath, steeling herself to continue with words she’d definitely tried to plan. “Yang, I’m - I’m so sorry. None of that went the way I wanted.”

“How did you even beat me back here?” Yang’s still caught up in the logistics.

“I’m a fast driver.” Blake steps forward, tucking a lock of long hair behind her ear. “Yang, please, just - hear me out, okay? It’s been such a long time, and I - I wanted to talk to you, and it just… came out all wrong. I was being defensive. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Yang finally breaks eye contact, walking barefoot into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. She doesn’t usually but it, but Weiss had left the bottle there on New Year’s Eve and it seemed weirdly indulgent to lounge around by herself on the couch drinking it. Wasn’t it usually a drink you shared with other people?

She flinches against a sudden memory -- she and Blake and Weiss, the summer after freshman year of college, stealing a bottle of vintage 1985 Dom Perignon from Weiss’s father’s liquor cabinet and finishing the entire thing to celebrate Yang’s nineteenth birthday. They’d drank out of plastic cups, sitting in Yang’s backyard. Yang can’t remember what the hell she had for lunch yesterday, but she can remember that Blake was wearing a low-cut purple and yellow sundress, that she’d curled her hair, that her cheeks flushed red every time Yang looked at her a second too long.

She grips the edge of the kitchen counter, breathing in slowly through her nose, out through her mouth.

“Yang,” Blake says, quieter now. “If you really want me to, I’ll go.”

Her eyes flicker over to Blake, statue-still in the living room, face in shadow. Unreadable.

“Don’t go.” Yang takes another long breath. “Tell me whatever it is you came here to say.”

“It’s like… everything was a free fall back then.” Blake switches on the living room lamp, flooding the space in golden light, and Yang can see things she didn’t before: dark circles under her eyes, a bone-deep exhaustion. “I was only twenty, and I’d already had this terrible relationship -- if you can even call it that -- with someone who abused me. But with you…with you, Yang, it was perfect. I’m not using that word lightly. I was never fucking up, or like, embarrassing you, or too much, or too little. The way you’ve made me feel…I’ve chased that for five years and never found it again.”

“Yeah,” Yang says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Leaving you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. It wrecked me. I was just… I was scared. I wish you could understand how scared I was, and how worried I was that I was going to hurt you--”

“So then why’d you even do it?” Yang explodes, throwing up her hands. “If you knew it was gonna hurt me -- what, you just didn’t care?”

Blake slumps against the kitchen wall, arms across her chest, and looks miserably up at Yang. “I never stopped caring about you. Not for one single second.”

Yang turns her back, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, filling them halfway. Her lower lip is trembling. She tries not to think about it. Maybe if she drinks enough, she’ll succeed.

“I don’t want to be sad when I think about you anymore,” Blake continues, and her voice breaks when she says _you_. “It’s been so long.”

“Five years.” Yang hands a glass to Blake, then brushes past her, heading into the living room. “I know. I kept count.”

They sink down onto the couch, side by side like they’ve been for so much of their lives.

“When I left you, I was afraid. Of so many things. Afraid of Adam and what he was going to do to you. Afraid of why we’d been crashing together so many times, year after year, and then spiraling apart because we could just never make it work.”

“I never understood that either.”

“You must just hate me,” Blake says softly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

 _Yeah,_ Yang wants to say. _Yeah, I fucking hate you. I hate you for leaving me when you swore you would never. I hate you for telling me all that bullshit about magic and other dimensions and all the people we’ve been. I hate that every night when I fall asleep, I still feel your weight on the other side of my bed._

But instead, she says, “Someone would have to be insane to hate you.”

She takes a sip of champagne, sneaking a look at Blake out of the corner of her eye; why has she spent so much of her life looking at her that way? Watching tears spill over her lashes, feeling the curve of her spine when she wrapped her arms around Yang, begging silently to be comforted. “I don’t want to be sad either.”

“Yang,” Blake says suddenly, turning to look at her, dark hair spilling over one shoulder. “When we were kids, you told me about nightmares you were having. Nightmares about…”

“It was Adam,” Yang confirms.

“Yeah. And me.”

“You saved me.”

“I know,” Blake says quietly. “I know I told you about the other universes, the parallels, the splitting apart, the choices… all of that. But I never told you the dreams I had about you.”

Yang looks over, surprised. “You… had dreams about me?”

“Ever since I was a little girl. I dreamt you were a princess, or a goddess, or something like that, and you grew flowers wherever I walked. Once, I dreamt that I wrote songs for you, and I woke up with them still stuck in my head. My nightmares were the ones where I… I left you, over and over and _over_ again, in all different ways, like I was just dragging myself through purgatory and never getting to be reborn.” Blake pauses to wipe the tears from her face. “Sometimes I think I must have really fucked up to be cursed like this. To keep destroying you in every life.”

“Blake…”

“And of course, in most of the nightmares, _he_ was there,” Blake says bitterly, staring down at the floor. “Like it wasn’t bad enough to have him in this life.”

“He did - he did terrible things to you. I know that. I know that now.” Yang rests her elbows on her knees, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I should have done more to help you. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“It’s just…” Blake turns, reaches up like she wants to stroke Yang’s hair, but changes her mind halfway through the gesture. Her hand falls back to her lap. “It’s complicated. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done. When I ran… look, Yang, I hope you know that I only left because I was trying to lead him away from you.”

Yang stares at her.

*

_twenty_

“You’re failing.”

The voice comes from behind her, late on a Thursday night. Yang has a Psych class in one of the buildings on the far end of campus, so she always rides Bumblebee, pedaling as fast as she can until she gets back into the well-lit quad. Adam, of course, knows the perfect place to find her where no one will see.

She could pedal away, of course, but something tells her that he would just catch her. Terror whirrs in her ears, an alarm bell. She slows to a stop and climbs off the bike.

“What do you mean, Adam?”

“Apparently I didn’t make myself clear the first time,” he hisses, stepping out of the shadows, and before she can even brace herself, he’s grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and shoving her up against a brick wall of her classroom building. It takes her a second to realize he’s holding a knife to her throat.

“Are you crazy?” she asks, and he answers her question by pressing the blade against her skin -- not hard enough to draw blood, just enough that she can feel cold metal. Icy wind ripples through the trees, goosebumps rippling up and down her bare arms. She can taste the fear, bitter, alive.

“Leave. Her. Alone,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Do you even know who I am? I can get away with anything.”

Yang stares at him, cold wind hitting her like a blow and sending a chill skittering down her spine. He’s so much stronger than she is. She couldn’t run if she tried.

“Answer me!” He presses the blade harder. Instinctively, she squeezes her eyes shut.

“F-fine,” Yang stutters. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. But y-you…you have to swear you won’t ever fucking touch her.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands.”

Yang sucks in a breath. She knees him hard in the crotch -- the blade catches her throat, and she gasps at the sharp, shocking pain, the trickle of blood running down her neck. When Adam recoils, she punches him expertly in the face. His nose breaks with a satisfying crack.

He coughs, shocked, looking up at her. “You’re nothing, Yang. You’re a scared little girl, just like her. And now you’re really going to make me your enemy? You really think that’s smart?”

Yang spits in his face. “There’s nothing I won’t do for her.”

She jumps on her bike and pedals away.

-

It’s almost eleven when she gets back to the dorm. She makes a beeline for Blake’s room, not even pausing to knock, and slams the door behind her, fumbling with the lock.

“Yang?” Blake sits up. She’d been lying on her bed fully dressed, half-heartedly going over some homework; it’s scattered around her on the quilt. When she sees the look on Yang’s face, she sweeps the papers to the ground and runs to her side, pulling her into a hug. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Yang starts to answer, but her teeth are chattering, her body shaking so hard she can’t speak. Blake turns away to grab a sweatshirt from her closet, and it isn’t until she reaches to pull it over Yang’s head that she sees it.

“Yang… holy shit,” she exhales, covering her mouth with one hand. Yang knows what she’s seeing: the angry red cut across the middle of her throat, drops of blood drying on her collarbone. “Oh my god. Baby. What happened? What _happened_ to you?”

Blake runs her hands through Yang’s hair, pulling her closer, scanning her entire body for any other injuries. Swallowing hard, Yang clenches her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

“He… found me,” she chokes out finally, and Blake’s body goes rigid. She looks up, golden eyes wide with terror.

“Adam?” she whispers. Yang can’t bring herself to say anything else. Grabbing her hand, Blake leads her into the bathroom, sitting Yang on the edge of the tub while she turns on the sink. “Did he do anything else to hurt you?”

“He, um…”

“Yang, did he?” Blake urges. She gets on her knees in front of Yang, wet washcloth in hand, and starts cleaning the cut with a heartbreaking gentleness. Yang blinks and her eyes fill with tears.

“No, no,” she whispers. “I, um, I punched him.”

Blake carefully pulls off Yang’s shirt, tossing it aside, and sucks in a breath. Already, red bruises are forming across her shoulders from where he held her to the wall; they’ll darken over the next few days, she can tell already.

“What does he _want_ from you?” Blake says, half sobbing, and rests her head in Yang’s lap. She runs a hand over Blake’s hair, fingers tangling in the wavy strands.

“He just wants me to leave you alone.” Yang swallows back her own emotion with tremendous effort. “He said I was failing. Wasn’t doing a good enough job.”

“At… staying away from me?” Blake sounds like she’s about to faint. “He held a knife to your throat because you and I spend too much time together?”

Yang nods.

“Sleep in my bed tonight,” Blake says urgently. “Please. I’ll protect you.”

Yang’s head snaps up, eyes blank. “What?”

“Yang, I…”

She stands up, sparing a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror. With the dried blood washed away, the cut is shallow; it’ll heal fine. She doesn’t turn back to look at Blake, doesn’t stop until she’s back in her own room. Doesn’t cry until she’s turned out the light.

-

The distance between them stretches, stretches, an impossible chasm, an unfordable river. It’s two days later, the last day before winter break, before Blake comes back to her.

It’s no surprise. Through the swirl of snow outside her window, Yang watches her winding her way through the tree-lined path, black hair a dark smudge against white, entering the dorm three floors below. She sinks back into her pillows and waits for the knock at the door; when it comes, she calls, “come in.”

“Hey,” Blake says, voice full of false bravado. Yang just stares at her. She never forgets how beautiful Blake is, but sometimes it hits her all over again like a suckerpunch. She’s wearing tight jeans and a dark jacket, purple wool scarf around her neck. When she pulls off her stupid pom-pom hat, tossing it on the floor, little strands of hair sticking up at the crown of her head, Yang can’t focus on anything except how badly she wants to kiss her.

Yang nods hello. In comparison to Blake, what is she, really? She’s in her tank top and pajama pants, hair pulled into a ponytail, no makeup. Purple and black bruises bloom across her shoulders, a monument to her weakness. She should’ve just fucking killed Adam when she had the chance. Kept Blake safe for good.

“Yang, the other night with… with Adam,” Blake says, voice shaking. “I, um… I get what you were doing. I just hope you know - I hope you remember, everything I ever told you was true. I meant all of it.”

Iron-cold fear clenches around Yang’s heart. “Why are you saying goodbye to me?”

“I’m not saying goodbye.”

“Blake,” Yang says, reaching out a hand, rising slowly to her feet. If life has taught her anything, it’s the way someone looks when they’re about to leave you. “Don’t. Please. Don’t… whatever you’re doing, just -- don’t. I love you so much.”

Blake gives her a long, steady look. Her hands don’t shake. Her lips press together tight, calm and serious and stoic. Slowly, she tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, then walks out of Yang’s bedroom without another word.

Yang sprints across the room, out into the hall, but Blake is already halfway down the stairs. She’s heading for the parking lot behind their building. Barefoot, Yang screeches to a halt in the doorway, staring out into the early evening; powder white snow coats the ground. A car door slams, Blake climbing into the driver’s seat. Yang watches her tires spin on the freshly-fallen snow, watches her back the car up, turn around, headlights flashing and blinding her. She clings to the door frame, her own last words still loud in her ears: _I love you so much_.

For the next five years, she’ll wonder if those words, the words she finally, _finally_ said, were almost enough to change Blake’s mind.

Weiss arrives back at their room an hour or so later, and they pack their bags in silence. When she breaks down in tears, Weiss guides her over to her bed, then starts folding Yang’s t-shirts and sweaters for her.

“See?” she says gently, gesturing at the packed suitcase. “You can roll your shirts up like this, and then it makes way more room for the rest of your things.”

She’s trying so hard, and Yang loves her for it, but it’s all wrong.

*

_twenty-five_

“That’s… why you left?” Yang asks, stunned. “You said… to lead him away from me?”

“Yang, listen to me.” Blake cups Yang’s face in her hands, golden eyes brimming with tears. “He was going to hurt you again. I was - I was scared out of my mind that he was going to kill you.”

Yang touches her face, brushing one of Blake’s tears away with her thumb. Five years later, she still remembers the cold brick pressed against her back, the gleam of a silver knife, the flash of triumph in Adam’s eyes. The white-hot panic that he would try to hurt Blake.

“If I hadn’t left, he would’ve just kept coming back,” Blake says miserably. “As long as we were in each other’s lives, he wasn’t going to rest.”

“But couldn’t you just tell me that?” Yang lets her hand fall back into her lap.

“I messed up, Yang. I should’ve been honest with you. I was just…” Blake sighs, running a hand over her face. “It’s so hard for me to talk about this. This whole thing - everything with Adam - technically, it ended years ago. He showed up outside my house and totally freaked me out, and finally my dad understood what I’d always been trying to tell him. I got a restraining order against him, and on top of it, he ended up in prison. He’s still there.”

Yang’s shoulders sag in relief. “So he can’t get you.”

“No. He can’t get to either of us.” Blake swallows, eyes flickering over Yang’s face. “Physically, at least. I - I should’ve called you, told you. But so much time had passed by that point. I figured you had to be so angry with me. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I understand.” Yang leans her head on Blake’s shoulder. “When you disappeared… it just felt like so much. It felt like my breaking point. Raven left. Ruby’s mom died. My dad just shut down, and Ruby was so young, and there was so much for me to take care of… so many pieces for me to put back together. On top of everything else, losing you just felt like…”

“I know. Let’s just not talk about it anymore,” Blake says gently, wrapping her arms around Yang’s shoulders. The feeling makes her catch her breath -- they still fit together perfectly, the universe has been here waiting for them all along.

*

_twenty_

Yang goes back to school for the spring semester prepared. She’ll stand outside Blake’s room every day if she has to. Bang on the door, follow her through the halls, switch all her classes so they have the same schedule. Blake can’t just banish her to the back corners of her mind. Not now, not when they’ve come so far. Confident, she marches up the stairs to Blake’s dorm room.

The door is swung open wide, revealing an empty room. The bed is stripped. Walls are bare. Floor is dusted, mopped, scrubbed. It’s like she was never even there at all.

Weiss appears behind her, hands on Yang’s shoulders, telling her quietly: it’s over, Blake transferred schools. Something about a better university for her major, a scholarship, study abroad. Yang only hears bits and pieces.

Something in her mind cracks, splinters, dulls. She revels in its permanence, the level of destruction, a category five hurricane. The realization she will never be able to go back.

The universe splits and reforms. Out there somewhere, standing in this same room, are two girls who never broke each other. Yang knows she’s in this room, lying in this bed while the wind howls outside, legs intertwined with Blake’s, drowning in warmth as she slides her tongue along Blake’s lips, parting them, crackling with life.

At least they’re doing fine.

*

_twenty-five_

Blake’s only in town for twenty-four hours. The thought nearly sends Yang spiraling into a panic, even though when she sits down and does the math, she realizes they’ll be seeing each other at least a handful of times in the coming year. There’s the rehearsal dinner, the wedding ceremony, the reception. After that…

She tries not to think about what it’ll be like after that.

Instead, she thinks of about a hundred ways to ask Blake to stay at her apartment. In the end, she discards all of them. Blake takes a car back to her hotel, and Yang flings herself onto her bed, screams into a pillow, and calls Weiss, in that order.

“I let her go!” she wails.

“This saga is really still going on, huh?” Weiss asks. Her words are a little slurred.

“How drunk are you? Did you go to that bar with Ilia?”

“For the last time, you moron, Ilia and I aren’t together. And quit trying to change the subject. You know what you need to do. You’re just _hiding_ from the _truth_.”

“But I don’t wanna hide from the truth anymore!”

“Then go to her hotel! Chase her to the airport like in a rom com!”

“I don’t want to do that,” Yang says, aware that she sounds like a cranky little girl. “I want her to come back here. I want her to sleep in my bed, not some hotel bed. I want…”

“You can stop there.”

Yang falls asleep on the couch, because it’s the last thing in her apartment that Blake touched. If she concentrates hard, she can still feel her warmth.

*

_twenty_

“I’m just curious,” Weiss says, stretching out in the grass beside Yang. “How long is this moping going to last?”

Yang looks over at her, eyes obscured by gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. “Who’s moping?”

“You, idiot.”

“I’m doing fine. Look, all we gotta do is get through finals week and then it’s summer! I’m gonna plan tons of stuff for us to do. Could somebody do that if they were moping?”

“Yes, easily, as a diversion tactic.” Weiss sets down her History notes. The quad is packed with students studying; tomorrow’s the first day of finals, and it’s the perfect weather for spending the afternoon outside. “Look, Yang, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I really think we should. I miss Blake too-”

“What do you mean, _too_?”

Weiss’s blue eyes narrow. “I’ve really had enough of your attitude. Here I am, trying to be a supportive and helpful best friend-”

Yang slams her textbook shut, flinging it into the grass. “Weiss, you have no idea how it feels to be left. Your life’s always been so full. You’ve always had people to pick up the pieces when things went wrong, or to orchestrate your life when you couldn’t. You had parents and an older sister and a whole staff to raise you...”

“Parents? You mean the emotionally abusive father and alcoholic mother? The sister who couldn’t summon a genuine emotion if her life depended on it?” Part of Yang expects her - _wants_ her - to get angry, but instead, Weiss’s gaze softens. She lifts a hand, rests it on Yang’s shoulder. “We don’t need to compare our lives. You’ve been lucky enough to have family who loves you. Really loves you, for you who are. And you’re right - I’ve been lucky in other ways. Everyone’s lives are messy and complicated, and that includes Blake’s.”

Yang swallows, pulling off her sunglasses, twirling them between her fingers.

“She’s faced her own demons,” Weiss says quietly. “Blake wouldn’t just decide to leave on a whim. You remember what she was like when we were kids, don’t you? She was always on the fringes, in the background. Afraid to open up to anybody. And then when she met you, it was like all those walls were broken down. She made herself vulnerable to you.”

Tears spring to Yang’s eyes; she puts her aviators back on quickly so Weiss won’t be able to tell, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I _wanted_ her to be vulnerable with me. How could I have been there for her if she wouldn’t let me?”

“Look, I’d be willing to bet that losing you was her biggest fear. She was always afraid that she’d really let you in and everything would implode - why else do you think you guys kept crashing together, coming apart, and never making it work?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yang, she always loved you. I could, like, _feel_ her love for you whenever she was around, like a change in the weather patterns or something. What you guys had was ridiculous. Things like that don’t just end.”

“Don’t they?” Yang asks, voice flat.

“Yang. Go about your life, do what you want. But I think you should prepare to be there for her when she comes back.”

Yang flops back in the grass, arms outstretched, staring up at the clouds lilting through the sapphire sky. “ _If_ she comes back.”

-

“Hey, Blake, it’s me. Sorry to be leaving a voicemail. I know that’s tacky and nobody even checks these things anymore, but I wanted to tell you, um… I really miss you at school. It’s not the same without you. It’s not…”

Yang trails off, staring down at her phone. She waits for the time to run out. When the automated voice asks if she’d like to keep or delete her message, she chooses ‘delete.’

*

_twenty-one_

“Hey Blake, it’s me. I’m not going to actually save this message. I just wanted to pretend for a second that maybe you could hear me. I turned twenty-one yesterday, and Weiss and Pyrrha threw me this whole party - Pyrrha’s in town, she’s staying with us. Ruby loves her, but the other day she told me she’s no you. Anyway. The party was pretty good. Weiss drank five Moscow mules and threw up. You would’ve laughed at that.”

Delete.

*

_twenty-two_

“Hi Blake, um, if you remember me. It’s Yang. I’m graduating tomorrow. BA in Psychology… can’t wait to live in a box! Hopefully I’ll be taking the GRE this summer so I can get into grad school. Um, we’ll see. This is stupid. I’m not going to save this message either.”

Delete.

*

_twenty-three_

“I love you so much.”

Delete.

*

_twenty-four_

“Blake…”

Delete.

*

_twenty-five_

It’s just past eight in the morning on the day after the engagement party. Blake answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Yang. What are you doing up already?”

“Blake,” she says, and her lips curl into a smile as she says her name - she’d missed the way it felt in her mouth. “If you don’t come over right now, I’ll die.”

“Oh, yeah?” Blake says. Yang can hear the laughter bubbling underneath her words. “This is a tragedy. I better hurry over, huh?”

“I think it’s imperative that you do.”

-

In the past, Yang would’ve been hysterical, racing around the apartment, calling Weiss with outfit questions, throwing mascara and eyeliner and blush all over the bathroom in a frenzy. Today, she doesn’t care. She pulls the bedroom curtains back, letting pink and gold morning light wash through the apartment. She brushes her teeth, splashes cool water on her face, lets her blonde hair hang loose over her shoulders. When Blake walks through the front door, she’s still wearing her pajamas.

“Well, I’m overdressed,” Blake says dryly.

“Shut up.” Yang runs up to her, cupping her face in her hands and kissing her gently before Blake can even get the door closed behind her. She laughs, trying to pull off her coat and scarf and boots with Yang still attached to her.

Blake pulls away from her lips long enough to ask, “You’re not even gonna say hello?”

“You wanna talk?” Yang asks, and her eyes flash. She grips Blake’s sweater in her fists. “Okay. Here’s everything I always wanted to tell you. I love you because you’re smart, because you complement me, because we fit perfectly together. I love that you can tell what I’m thinking half the time. I love that sometimes you know how I feel before _I_ even know. I love how brave you are, and how beautiful, and how your family loves me, and how you were always so nice to mine. I love how everyone always wanted us to be together because they could see so much more than we could.”

Blake swallows back tears, pushes Yang’s hair off her face with one trembling hand. “Okay. That’s enough talking.”

“I could go for another hour, if you want.”

Blake lets out a shaky laugh. “That won’t be necessary.” For a moment, her hand rests on the side of Yang’s face, and she takes a steadying breath. The softness in her eyes is replaced by something else, something Yang can’t quite pinpoint. Then she smiles. “We’re not twenty anymore. I know how to shut you up.”

Blake pulls Yang’s t-shirt over her head with a quick efficiency that makes her eyes widen. Before she can catch her breath, Blake has her up against the living room wall, tugging down her flannel pajama pants, tossing them aside. She pulls off her own sweater; for a moment, her hair falls over her left shoulder, and Yang’s shocked to notice two black cursive lines inked across her right shoulder blade: _give me your ghosts, give me your demons._ But then Blake tosses her hair back, and Yang forgets; she trails kisses down Yang’s stomach, her lips warm and soft.

Yang expects her to stop there. She expects her to do something like stand up and wrap her in a hug, kiss her gently, make her laugh. She _doesn’t_ expect her to slip her thumbs under the waistband of Yang’s underwear, pulling down so slowly it makes her stomach muscles clench; she doesn’t expect her to grab one of Yang’s legs and pull it over her shoulder so she’s practically straddling her face. Yang’s jaw falls open, words evading her.

Blake looks up at her, makes eye contact, grinning, before she scratches her fingernails down Yang’s upper thighs and slides her tongue inside her. Instinctively, Yang grabs the back of Blake’s head and holds her closer, pulling her hair hard; it’s a miracle she doesn’t collapse.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, Blake’s tongue flicking against her. If she listens too closely to the sounds she’s making, she might pass out. Moments pass and she’s dangerously close to the edge, barely aware of the noise coming out of her mouth, when Blake pulls back. Her lips are red and shining, wet; she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and tilts her head up to look at Yang, black hair cascading down her back.

“I love you,” she whispers. Before Yang can remember how to speak, Blake’s mouth is on her again, and she slips one finger inside her, then two, then three, then she doesn’t remember much of anything.

It feels like years later when they end up in Yang’s bedroom. Sunlight pours in through her window. She’s warm and comfortable, more relaxed than she’s ever been; Blake’s hand trails through her hair and she thinks about the thread that’s held them together from year to year, twisting, tangling, stretching, never breaking. She thinks about all the other versions of themselves, sprinkled throughout the universe like stardust. Falling in love and getting it wrong. Never meeting, and always feeling like there’s something missing. Her body aches with relief at the idea that in this life, this one, they are twined together in her bed.

Finally, Blake’s hand stills, tangled in Yang’s hair. She rolls over; Blake’s sound asleep, long dark lashes smudged like graphite against her skin, hair falling across her face, breathing slow, deep. Yang slides her hand down Blake’s waist, spreading her fingers wide, feeling the warmth of her skin. Nothing will break them now. Nothing will tear them apart.

Even though Blake isn’t awake to hear, Yang brushes a kiss against her hair and whispers the words she’s waited five years to say.

“I forgive you.”


	2. Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second and final part, this time from blake's POV! a couple notes: the playlist for the entire fic can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/halcyonlight/playlist/3nRgt7aqlzkU4zjnf2xBOD?si=_BpS1boJTtueF5g13SuLag).
> 
> also, forgot to mention last time that i'm blakebellafuckingdonna on tumblr so feel free to follow/message me there :)
> 
> as always, thank you to my gf erin explosivesky for proofreading!!
> 
>  **ALSO! IMPORTANT!** i am gonna put a content warning here for emotional/physical abuse because well. adam.

_five_

Darkness. 

A room with high ceilings, the crackle and hissing and heat of flames. Blake’s feet are rooted to the spot. As she looks around, a blinding fear that she doesn’t understand nearly sends her falling to her knees. _No, no, no,_ she thinks. Maybe she says it out loud.

There’s a flash of golden hair outside the window, someone calling. “Blake? Where are you?”

Terror like ice. She digs her fingernails into her palms so hard they leave marks.

She wakes up screaming.

Her bedroom light flicks on; Kali is running to her side, still in her cotton bathrobe, face alight with concern. She kneels on Blake’s carpet, running a hand through her daughter’s short dark hair. Blake’s entire body is shaking, pajamas soaked in cold sweat.

“Honey, what is it?” Kali asks urgently. She climbs onto the bed, pulling Blake into her lap. “Another nightmare?”

Blake stares up at her mother, golden eyes fearful and round in her tiny face. “It’s the same dream from always.”

“The same dream,” Kali repeats, rubbing circles across Blake’s back. She lets her daughter bury her face in her shoulder, still sniffling. “Sweetheart, you know that those dreams can’t hurt you. I know they’re scary, but-”

“They hurt me,” Blake says insistently, voice muffled. “They do hurt me, Mommy.”

“How do the dreams make you feel?”

Blake coughs, stirring up a fresh wave of tears. “I messed it all up.”

“Now, Blake, you know how this works - remember what we talked about? I know it feels like you in the dreams, but you’re not yourself. It’s another Blake. A different girl. And anything she did, or said, or felt… that wasn’t you.” Kali sighs, pulling her daughter closer. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, sweetie. As you get older, it should get easier. You’ll understand the nightmares better. They might even go away.”

But Blake isn’t listening. She scrubs the tears from her face with one little fist, staring up at Kali with an alarming urgency. “But I have to do something.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Mommy…” Blake sucks in a breath, eyes widening. “Mommy, who _is_ she?”

*

_twenty-six_

Blake wakes up to windowpane rain, her favorite kind: battering the glass, the kind you can tell would be freezing if you stood in it, but inside is warm and glowing. It reminds her of a million years ago. It reminds her of tossing her fear aside, jumping into the shower at Yang’s house when they were teenagers, tasting her lips for the first time. Maybe it’s cliche to feel like rain refreshes everything and lets you start anew, but it’s what she’s always believed.

She blinks rapidly, the blurry room coming into focus. As usual, she’s curled on her side like a cat, soft blanket pulled high over her head. Sleepily, she pulls it down, still dragging herself out of peaceful dreams. Her lips curl into a smile as she tries to remember; there are only bits and pieces of blue sky, a waterfall -

“God, finally! I thought you were dead or something,” a voice exclaims, very close to her ear.

Blake yelps and swats at Yang, who’s full-on hovering over her, propped up by her wrists, waves of blonde hair cascading over Blake’s face. Yang cracks up and rolls off her, collapsing onto the other side of the bed.

“Shit, that was so funny. Your _face_.”

“Your face is funny,” Blake grumbles, but it’s half-hearted, broken by laughter.

“Good one. Is that what you were doing the whole time you were sleeping? Working on your stand-up routine?”

Blake rolls over, pressing her lips to Yang’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll go home this weekend after all. I don’t have to lie here and take this harassment.”

Yang gasps in mock horror. “You would go _home_ on our two-month anniversary? I’m dumping you. I’m kicking your ass to the curb, Belladonna.”

“I don’t know that it’s really our anniversary,” Blake says, mostly just to get a rise out of her. She smooths a hand over Yang’s hair; her lavender eyes fall shut. “You didn’t ask me out in January. I didn’t technically ask you anything either. This is all a fallacy.”

“Is it time to have a talk?” Yang’s eyes snap open, lips quirking into a mischievous smile. “Blake, what _are_ we?”

“Perfect for each other,” Blake says, rolling closer so their bodies overlap, trailing her lips down Yang’s jawline, and she can tell from her sharp intake of breath that she wasn’t actually expecting a serious response.

They stop talking, and Blake can’t hear anything but the rain and her own thoughts. _I remember_ , she thinks, a familiar refrain. _I remember you. I remember you._

*

_ten_

Sometimes the nightmares are bad, worse than she could’ve ever imagined: dark rooms with slanting light, blood spilled on stone, weapons that clatter, screams that echo. These are the ones that rip her out of sleep sobbing. Blake stops going to her mother, not wanting to worry her; she masters the art of crying alone. But maybe the universe smiles on her, because there are also dreams that are good.

She and the blonde girl are the same age, her hair in pigtails, Blake’s dark hair skimming her shoulders, and they’re chasing each other down the street, laughing. Blake’s reading to her from a book as she falls asleep, a candle burning on the nightstand. Most of the time they meet when they’re older - Blake sees herself with awe, how she’ll look, the wave of her long hair, a glimmering in her golden eyes that she doesn’t yet understand. They sit on a porch swing together, talking in the sun. They’re standing in the snow, gloved fingers twined together. The ocean crashes. A motorcycle roars; Blake’s heart lifts, something like hope.

It’s a Friday in March, a couple days after her tenth birthday, and she’s walking through the courtyard at Beacon Academy, mind occupied with thoughts of spring break and the cruise she’ll be going on with her parents. She sighs heavily, twisting her fingers through her backpack straps. It’s not that she doesn’t _want_ to go on vacation with her parents, but things would be different if she had someone her own age to spend time with. A friend to bring along. A sibling, even. But it’s always been her on her own. Blake sinks down onto her favorite bench, opening a book in her lap.

“Did you paint anything for me?” a girl’s voice chirps from behind her, sudden.

“For you?” another girl drawls in response. Blake knows that voice, even without seeing her: Weiss Schnee. They’re not friends or anything, but their parents are always chatting at school functions, so they’ve had conversations here and there. Privately, Blake thinks she’s a little bit of a snob, but then that’s par for the course at this school. “Why would I paint something for you?”

“Because I’m your best friend in the whole world.”

“Yeah, but Yang, that doesn’t mean I’m going to paint you.”

“I didn’t ask you to paint _me_. I asked you to paint something _for_ me,” the other girl whines. “Maybe something inspired by me. Like the sun.”

Weiss laughs, and Blake’s shoulders relax with the knowledge that they aren’t fighting, not really. Any kind of verbal conflict makes her nervous. “The sun! Like I’m in kindergarten.”

“It was just an idea. Maybe next time?”

“Yeah, maybe next time,” Weiss agrees. They settle down in the grass; Blake pictures them under the oak tree, where a lot of kids sit to do homework after school. “Thanks for coming, Yang. It’ll be fun.”

“And there’s food, right? Dad said art shows usually have food. That’s why I came.” Pause. “And I came for you, obviously! My best friend in the universe.”

Blake imagines Weiss rolling her eyes. “There’ll probably be pretzels and stuff.”

She wants to listen more, but her cell phone chirps, the clunky old model that her parents bought her mainly so they can still get in touch when they travel. Her father never uses it; her mother’s almost constantly texting her. Sure enough, when she glances down, it’s a message from Kali.

_Hi honey! Had to run downtown for a last-minute meeting. Dad’s still working. Can you take the late bus home? There’s pizza money in the kitchen drawer. Love you! xoxo_

Blake bites her lip, tossing the phone between her hands. _sure mom see you later_

For a moment, she considers going to the art show instead of heading home; Weiss and her friend will be there, and maybe they could all talk. _But what would we talk about?_ Blake thinks despondently. _Weiss is kind of too cool for me. And the other girl…_

She stands up, heading out of the courtyard, and glances curiously over her shoulder. Weiss is sitting neatly cross-legged under the tree, wearing her Beacon uniform, hands in her lap. Her friend is dressed in jeans and a yellow sweatshirt, brilliantly golden hair wrestled into two long, curly pigtails; she raises her arms high, stretching, tossing her head back, face in the sun, and Blake gasps out loud.

Kali doesn’t get home until close to six. Blake’s sitting on the living room floor with the television on, ignoring it completely in favor of staring out the window at the setting sun, the fading light. When she hears the front door open, she leaps up and sprints into the entryway.

“Mom,” Blake says, wild-eyed, panting like she’s run a mile. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Kali drops her briefcase and immediately reaches out her arms to pull her daughter into a hug. Blake stands still.

“Mom…” Slowly, slowly, she smiles. “She’s real.”

*

_twenty-six_

Yang sighs theatrically, looking Blake up and down. They’re standing at the train station for what feels like the millionth time, Blake with a plaid duffel bag slung over one shoulder, Yang with a miserable expression on her face.

“Do you _have_ to go?”

“We’ve been over this,” Blake says, but her lips quirk into a smile, her hand finding Yang’s shoulder and squeezing. “I have an actual home. With, you know, furniture. And food in the fridge.”

“Maybe I can come with you?” Yang asks hopefully, knowing full well that she can’t.

“You have a job,” Blake reminds her. “As do I. And I can’t exactly bring you into my office to sit with me. You’re not my emotional support girlfriend.”

“Aha!” Yang points a dramatic finger at her. “You said it! Girlfriend!”

Blake rolls her eyes, laughing. “My train’s gonna be here any minute. I’ll call you as soon as I get in, okay?”

“Okay,” Yang says, dropping the routine now that Blake’s departure is imminent. She loops her arms around Blake’s waist, gently pulling her closer, dropping her forehead to Blake’s. “I miss you.”

“You mean you’re going to miss me?”

“No. I miss you right now. It’s that bad. I can already feel it.”

Blake brushes her fingertips across Yang’s cheek, bouncing up on her tiptoes to kiss her, quick but deliberate. “I think you’ll survive. We can even FaceTime tonight if you want.” 

“Are you gonna give me an apartment tour again? Show me all your dumb plants?”

“Nah. I’ll show you something a little more interesting.” Blake winks, pulling back, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Yang stares at her, lavender eyes widening. It rips Blake’s heart out to turn her back and walk away, a physical ache in her bones, so she does it fast. Just like always.

When she reaches the tracks, she turns back to see Yang still watching her, smiling now, leaning up against the wall. She blows Blake a kiss. Just this once, because they have to go two weeks without seeing each other, Blake pretends to catch it, cupping her hands to her heart.

-

Her apartment is quiet, still, exactly as she left it. She lets the door slam shut behind her and drops her bag to the floor, staring around at the white walls. It’s been about six months since she moved into this place and she still hasn’t gotten around to decorating, despite her roommate’s best attempts to fill the space with greenery.

“Blake!” The second bedroom door crashes open and Sun steps out, unseasonably dressed as always in an unbuttoned white shirt and denim shorts. “Back so soon?”

“I mean, I live here.”

He crosses his arms, taking in her expression. “For now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” He grins. “Hey, so I watered all the plants. Succulents too. They’re lookin’ great.”

“Are you even supposed to water succulents? I thought they were like cacti.”

Sun shakes his head. “Blake, you disappoint me. In more ways than one.”

“And what does that cryptic statement mean?” She swings her duffel over her shoulder, heading for her bedroom. She hears a thump behind her as her roommate throws himself onto the couch.

“Your lack of botanical knowledge is really depressing. And you know what else is depressing? The fact that you’ve been insanely in love with the same girl since you were - in your own words- sixteen years old, and here you are ten years later and you guys aren’t even together.”

Blake stares at herself in her dresser mirror. She exhales and her bangs flutter. Dropping the bag on the floor, she heads back into the living room and sits on the carpet, pulling off her boots.

“It’s complicated,” she says lamely.

“What’s complicated about it? If you love her…”

“I do.”

“Then go be with her!”

“Sun, it’s not that simple!” she exclaims. “She’s been back in my life for barely two months. What the hell am I supposed to do? You know how hard I worked to get to where I am today - do you think I should just put in my two weeks’ notice at work, pack up everything and move up north to be with her?”

He crosses his arms, smiling.

“You do,” Blake says flatly. “Look, it’s all easy for you to say. You came into this shitshow way late in the game. I was what, twenty-two when you met me?”

“Something like that.”

“So your perception is skewed. You didn’t live through it.”

He snorts. “You talk about it like it was a war.”

Blake just looks at him, then lies down, back flat on the carpet. “Maybe it was.”

“Okay,” he says, as gentle as he can be. “You’re doing the best you can. Next couple months, you’re gonna be up there all the time anyway, right? For wedding stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“So see how it unfolds. You don’t need to start, like, ring shopping, or looking at apartments, or anything crazy. Just let it happen. If it’s meant to be…”

“I hate that phrase,” Blake interrupts. Just once, she’d love to know how her life would unfold if she wasn’t burdened with predestined knowledge. Just once, she’d love to walk into the future blind.

That night, after she and Sun order Chinese takeout for dinner, she jumps into bed with her laptop. One hour until she’s going to FaceTime Yang. She pulls up Google. Hesitates for a second, hand hovering over the keyboard, then types in “apartments” with Yang’s zip code. 

*

_sixteen_

“Tell me again what you’re doing,” Adam says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. They’re sitting at a red light. Blake stares at the radio longingly - he never plays music in the car.

“Weiss and I are doing homework. You know her, remember? From my class. We have Chem together this year.”

He doesn’t say anything. The light turns green and he hits the gas. “How long you think you’ll be there?”

“Adam, I don’t know.” Blake picks at the frayed hem of her shorts. “An hour? Two, maybe?”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, but there’s an edge to it, there’s always an edge. “Don’t get so angry. I just want to make sure I know where you are if your parents call. I promised I’d drive you around while they’re away, remember? Look out for you?”

“I know,” Blake says, eyes downcast. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. Here’s Starbucks right up here. Get out at the corner. I’ll wait to make sure you get in safe.”

 _Great, because you know how many murderers usually lurk outside suburban mainstream coffee shops_ , Blake wants to answer. When he puts the car in park, she mutters a thanks and climbs out. She doesn’t turn, but she hears the engine idling until she’s inside.

A soft bell jingles over the door as she steps in and it sounds like freedom. Blake exhales, pausing to catch her breath - and then it whooshes right out of her, all the air in her lungs. 

_There she is there she is oh my god there she is_.

Over the past six years, Blake’s hoarded plenty of information about Yang Xiao Long. Not in a creepy way, not in a way that she would ever use it; she just wanted to know. Weiss has a tendency to bring her up in conversation a lot - they’re best friends, have been ever since they were little - and therefore Blake has an entirely coincidental tendency to sit next to Weiss every time they have a class together. Yang doesn’t go to Beacon, she goes to the public school where her dad teaches. She has a little sister named Ruby. She’s a Leo, she hates when people touch her hair, her room is insanely messy, she jogs every night after school.

She’s also drop-dead, world-ending, heart-stoppingly, mind-numbingly beautiful.

Blake stands in the doorway staring. Yang’s leaning up the counter yawning into one hand, golden hair tied back into a long, full ponytail, bangs hanging into her eyes. She’s wearing an orange tank top, denim cutoffs, and battered Converse sneakers. Casually, she glances over at Blake and does a double take.

“Whoa,” Blake says without realizing she’s actually speaking. “Um… you’re not Weiss.”

“Neither are you.”

Blake walks toward her slowly, trying to take in every inch of her without Yang catching on. She thought the dreams were clear, the nightmares, but they can’t hold a candle to the real thing. The color of her eyes makes Blake lightheaded, pale lavender framed with long lashes that flutter against her cheeks. Light freckles dust over her nose. She’s close enough to see it all, and she never wants to move away.

“Venti mocha frap with extra whip and two pumps of raspberry?” The barista slides Yang’s drink down the counter. 

“That sounds…” Nauseating. “Good.” Blake hides a smile behind her hand. Her heart drums against her ribcage, frantic, excited.

“It _is_ good,” Yang says, slamming a green straw through the lid with surprising force. “Look, did… did Weiss invite you here?”

Blake blinks, surprised. “She did. She told me to meet here at two so we could go over our Chem homework.”

“She told me to meet _her_ here. What the hell?”

Her mind is whirring out of control - what does Weiss _know,_ anyway? Had she been totally obvious in class or something? But how could she have been? She never brought Yang up on her own, just waited for Weiss to do it. She and Yang had had that one awkward conversation on the Beacon campus two years ago, when Blake had totally embarrassed herself, and Weiss didn’t even know about that.

“Well, we might as well sit down and talk,” Blake says, forcing calmness into her voice as she steps up to the counter, pulling out her wallet. “Clearly it’s what she wants. Hi, can I get a grande hot chai with almond milk, please?”

“Sure thing,” the barista says, and Blake concentrates on swiping her debit card and taking deep breaths. According to her weird clairvoyant dreams, she’s talked to this girl millions of times. Probably billions, honestly. Surely she can pull it off one more time. Over her shoulder, she sneaks a glance at Yang; she’s sitting at a table, thumbs moving rapidly across her phone. Blake feels a flicker of uncertainty. Probably she’s disappointed that Weiss isn’t here. Why would she ever want to talk to some random girl over her best friend? 

After the barista hands Blake her drink, she briefly considers sitting at a different table, then tells herself she’s being stupid. Last time they spoke she made a total fool of herself. Maybe this is their second chance.

“I don’t know if you remember my name,” she says, sliding into the seat opposite Yang, who looks up from her phone. “I’m Blake Belladonna.”

“Yang Xiao Long.” Blake marvels at the fact that she has no clue that this isn’t new information. “You’re, um… are you friends with Weiss?”

“We have some classes together. I don’t know if I’d call us friends.” Blake sips her drink. “Not like the two of you.”

Yang raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you guys around Beacon,” Blake admits, and she thinks about the first time in the courtyard, sunlight turning Yang’s hair to spun gold, the way her breath caught in her chest. “You came to the football game one time with streaks of red paint on your face and spent the entire time screaming at the players while Weiss took Instagram selfies.”

“You saw me?”

“It was pretty hard to miss you. Didn’t you have red streaks in your hair?” 

“Yeah, it was temporary dye. My dad almost killed me when I came downstairs that day.” There’s a weird expression on Yang’s face, and Blake’s heart clenches; she’s giving too much away. “Blake, that was like… a year ago.”

“Well, I have a good memory,” she answers, trying to smile. “You were… sorry, I don’t want to freak you out.”

“You’re not freaking me out.”

“I was going to say…” _Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it._ “You were always at Weiss’s chorus concerts. I remember she had a solo one year and you got there so early that they were still setting up. I was doing stage crew back then, so I was backstage, and I remember you sat in the front row with a t-shirt that said…”

“ _I Would Die For Weiss Schnee_ ,” they both say in unison. Yang laughs and Blake smiles, unconsciously mirroring her, and all she wants to do for the rest of her life is hear that laugh and know that she caused it.

“I can’t believe you remember that. We were like, eleven.” They were exactly eleven; it was December of sixth grade. “It was her first solo ever, and she was so nervous. Afterwards we walked to the burger place around the corner and she stress-ate an entire bacon cheeseburger.” 

“I couldn’t get over your face when you were watching her sing,” Blake says, laughing. “You looked like one of those puppies in an adoption commercial where it finally gets placed with a good home.”

“Shut _up_!” Yang exclaims. Blake catches her breath at the tone of her voice; she’s happy, she’s _smiling_ , she’s really still sitting here. She’s really still talking. “I was just excited for her.”

They keep talking, Yang’s lavender eyes fixed on hers, glowing in the light, and Blake can barely keep up with her. She keeps pulling back mentally, checking in with herself: _am I really still talking to her? She’s not disappointed that I’m not Weiss? She_ wants _to be here with me?_

When Adam picks her up, she practically skips to the car, still smiling when she slides into the passenger seat. That’s her first mistake.

“Why are _you_ in such a good mood?” he asked, ice blue eyes narrowing in on her face. Blake tries to arrange her face in a more neutral expression, but she’s barely in control of her own emotions.

“Just relieved.” She shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant, and it must at least partially work because Adam puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. “I got all my stuff done for Chem, and I’ve been pretty stressed about it.”

Adam laughs, short and aggressive. “Yeah, I bet. What’d you get on that last test? A C minus, wasn’t it?”

“I know. I’m gonna do better on the next one.” She stares into the rearview mirror. Just as they round the corner, she thinks she catches a flash of blonde hair.

“Blake,” Adam says, and she can tell by the tone this isn’t the first time he tried to get her attention. _Whoops._

“Yeah?”

“What’s up with you? Are you even listening to me?”

No, Blake wants to say. No, I’m not. In her heart, she’s still sitting across from Yang, talking to her easily, freely, about the one thing she’s never been able to talk to anyone about except for her immediate family. She thinks about how she told Yang about her dreams, that she knows they’ve been together so many times, the lurch of fear, anticipation, when she waited for Yang to laugh at her or call her crazy; the way her eyes lit with recognition when she agreed.

 _I feel like I just woke up,_ she wants to say, but she can’t say that to anybody, least of all Adam.

*

_twenty-six_

On Monday morning, Blake marches straight into her boss’s office. It’s only been about sixteen hours since she last saw Yang, but she feels her absence like a phantom pain. Going about her usual routine - picking up coffee at Dean & Deluca, making small talk in the elevator, organizing the pile of books at her desk - is absolutely excruciating. She’s not even sure what she’s going to do until she does it.

“Blake!” Maria says when she walks in, adjusting her glasses and smiling. “Good morning. How was your anniversary weekend?”

 _Ugh._ She really shouldn’t have told people she was going out of town for an anniversary - who celebrates their two-month, middle schoolers? - but she needed a good excuse to take Friday off. “It was great, thank you.” Blake tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. “Um, Maria, I’m - I’m really sorry to do this first thing on a Monday…”

She trails off, setting a coffee down on her boss’s desk to prolong the inevitable. “I, uh, picked this up for you on my way in, by the way.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that, Blake-”

“I think I did.” She takes a slow, meditative breath. “Maria, I think - I mean, I’m going to leave the company at the end of the month. I hope I’m giving you enough notice…”

“You want to leave?” Maria stares at her, utterly bewildered. “But Blake… your performance review last month was absolutely stellar. We all love you here. If it’s a question of salary…”

“No, no,” Blake interrupts. “Nothing like that.”

Maria waits for her to elaborate. She doesn’t.

“Blake, maybe you want to take some time to think on it. I’d understand if you’re feeling frustrated in your current position, but you’re doing exemplary work. The clients love you. In fact, I just heard on Friday that one of the imprints downstairs will be looking to hire an Assistant Editor this summer. I’d be more than happy to put in a good word for you. The promotion would be-”

Blake holds up a hand, smiling apologetically. If she hears one more word, she might lose her nerve. “Maria, I’m so sorry. This is just… something I have to do.”

Her boss leans back in her chair; the office has two glass walls, offering breathtaking views of the sprawling city, and it always made Blake feel a rush of emotions she couldn’t explain. Maria smiles at the look on her face and nods once. She wonders what’s written there. Hopefully it’s enough.

“I understand, Blake, but we’ll certainly miss you here. Do you already have an offer somewhere else? You can tell me, of course.”

“I don’t, no.”

“Well, if you need me to make any calls, you know I’ve got contacts at all the publishing houses in the city. You can take your pick.”

Blake’s eyes flutter shut. _You’ve come this far._

“Thank you so much, Maria. I really appreciate it. But I’m actually going to be relocating to a different city.”

-

“Am I _crazy_?!”

Sun grins at her. In the almost-five years she’s known him, Blake’s never seen him look this happy. “You do sound a little crazy, yeah.”

“My dream job! Seriously!” Blake leans forward, elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She almost knocks her teacup over. “She was offering me a promotion at _the_ coolest imprint we have, and I turned it down.”

“And why did you turn it down again?” He leans back in his chair, hands resting behind his head. 

“Because I’m crazy.”

Sun shakes his head. “You had a reason for quitting. Maybe it was, you know, spur of the moment-”

“It was! It was extremely spur of the moment, and all because _you_ got inside my head.” Blake sighs, slumping down in her chair. “I’m never listening to you again.”

“Blake, maybe it was impulsive, but you’re twenty-six. You can do impulsive stuff! Packing up all your shit and leaving town… that’s pretty badass.”

“I haven’t actually done it yet,” Blake grumbles. 

“You’ve got two weeks.” Sun takes a bite of his sandwich, then continues with his mouth full. “You sure you don’t wanna order anything? Lunch menu’s great here.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t eat. I have to start packing up my desk, cleaning out my inbox… oh god, I need to start putting all my stuff in storage. I need to find an _apartment_ …”

“Blake,” Sun says kindly. “Here’s an idea. Don’t drive yourself crazy yet. Why don’t you go up to Yang’s this weekend and… I dunno, tell her what you’re thinking? Just to see where it goes?”

She wants to say no, don’t be ridiculous, I can’t, I _can’t,_ she probably doesn’t want to see me. But then she thinks of the sunlight in Yang’s hair, in her smile, her lips pressed against her forehead, and the idea doesn’t sound so bad.

“I just…” She sighs, running a hand over her face, and the truth spills out. “I don’t want to jump into anything too fast with her. After everything I’ve gone through…”

“I know,” Sun says, even though he doesn't have a clue. The only person who even vaguely knows what _everything_ entails is Yang. “Like I said the other night, it’s not like you gotta marry her. Just be with her for a weekend. Go from there.”

*

_sixteen_

Somewhere along the way, she took a wrong turn.

That’s what Blake thinks as she stands at the top of the driveway, staring down at the sprawling mansion below. Candles flicker in every window, pine branches scraping against the siding. The driveway is usually packed with cars, but tonight it’s empty saved for a banged-up black Audi and the hand-me-down BMW her father had given her as a present when she passed her permit test. She doesn’t want to bring Yang here, but she does anyway: the way her lilac eyes glitter when she laughs, the way she yells _Belladonna!_ every time she sees Blake, the way she loops one arm around Blake’s shoulder in a clumsy half-hug. They don’t see each other often - it’s been about three months since their Starbucks conversation - but when they do, she tries to make it count.

Sometimes, she wonders if Yang feels what she feels. She thinks the word _crush_ and discards it. Not right, not even close. But all the other words are too big and too scary, so she discards them too.

The front door slams open, and Adam’s in the doorway, staring up. “You coming down or what?”

She sucks in a slow breath, wrapping her arms around herself to block out the cold. Wind whips her hair back, scattering snow from the branches above. Her boots leave footprints in the slush.

“Where’s everybody else?” she asks, tugging off her coat when she steps inside, hanging it up by the door. Adam’s already got his back to her, heading for the living room. Usually the house is packed with guys when he’s home from college on break, music playing, smoke in the air, an uncomfortable tightening in her lungs. This - being alone with him - is worse.

“You don’t want to be alone with me?” Adam turns, blue eyes flashing, smile like a dagger. “I’m hurt, Blake.”

She forces her expression to soften. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I missed our talks while I was away.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You never answer my calls anymore.” He sits down on the velvet couch, stretching out and cracking open a can of beer with a label she doesn’t recognize. She doesn’t want to drink, not when she has to drive home, but she grabs a Blue Moon from the fridge anyway and slinks into the living room. “Remember how we used to talk all the time?”

“I was younger.” She sinks into an armchair, pulling her legs up underneath her. “You know how it is… school’s really busy now. Dad’s putting pressure on me to start working on college applications, adding more extracurriculars, all that stuff.”

Adam waves a careless hand. “Oh, I know. You think my father wasn’t the same way? But c’mon, you can’t be so busy that you forget about your friends. That’s not fair.”

She gulps her drink; it runs cold down her numb throat. So many nights she’s spent in this room. When she was twelve, thirteen, fourteen, it was almost dizzying, the light from the fireplace, his auburn hair, the way he smiled or laughed at things she said, the way he encouraged her to speak her mind. He was so much taller than her. So much smarter. So much older. So much.

“You’re right,” she says dully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand - I remember what it was like to be sixteen.” He shakes his head with laughter, then pats the couch next to him. Obediently, she rises, walks to his side. It’s colder on his side of the room. “You’re still applying to Mistral, obviously. Right?”

“Right.” Blake doesn’t even hesitate. It’s scripted, her next line. When she was thirteen, right after Adam got into college, she’d promised she would follow him. It’s a good school, an _excellent_ school, and the need to raise her GPA and look impressive in her interviews has driven her for the past few years. It’s a stupid plan when you really break it down; even if Blake gets in, by the time she’s eighteen, Adam will have graduated. She’s tried to point this out before, but he always breaks it down: he wants to go to grad school, he’ll be a TA, he’ll still be on campus. He’ll keep her safe.

“Email me your essays,” he says. “I’ll tell you if they’re good enough.”

She tilts her head up to look him in the eyes. A million years ago, he was so beautiful to her. Stunning in a way that kept her up at night. But she doesn’t lie awake anymore, she doesn’t count cracks in the ceiling; she lets herself fall, surrounded by golden light, breathing in lavender, the color of her soul. She sleeps.

“Adam,” she says, and her voice cracks. “I just - I mean, there are a lot of good schools out there. Maybe I shouldn’t _only_ apply to Mistral. My friend Weiss, she’s applying to Atlas University…”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Oh, Blake. You wouldn’t be happy there. What would you even study?”

“I thought… um, maybe English. English Lit.”

“No, you don’t want to do that. An English major won’t get you shit.” He touches her face, fingers under her chin, turning her head to face him. “You can do so much better. Blake, you haven’t worked this hard just to throw it all away. A Political Science degree from Mistral… you know what that could do for you?”

“Endless possibilities,” she says dully, taking his hand in hers, pulling it down to her lap. “Yeah. I know.”

“Your parents have been successful, but you… you’re capable of so much more. We’re capable of more together. You just can’t give up.”

“I’m not giving up.” Her eyes flicker over his face; he sighs.

“Blake, I know. I just get scared when it feels like you don’t believe in me anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Like you don’t believe in us.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it flashes behind her eyes, she can’t ever block it out: she had her first kiss in this house, on the staircase. Her parents had been drinking red wine and laughing with Adam’s father in the dining room, glasses clinking. She was fourteen and tipsy and overwhelmed and giggling, everything blurry, rose-colored. He had held her around her waist so tightly his grip left purple bruises on her hips.

Afterward, she went home, fell asleep still smiling, and the nightmares started.

At first, they were dark and blurry: he wore a mask, white as bone, he followed her, he stared. She woke up with chills, but usually forgot by the morning. Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. But she turned fifteen and it was like a switch went off inside her, a fire ignited. A blood-red sword slashes through the air. She pulls a black ribbon out of her hair and he catches it, holding tight. She lies on the cold floor and he stands over her.

The kiss was a mistake and she was a stupid little girl. That’s what she tells herself as she begins to pull away, inch by inch. But it’s never enough. Somehow, he still holds her.

That night, after their conversation’s ended and she’s driven herself home, she lies awake in her own bed, tangled in the sheets. Her phone is resting on the pillow beside her; every now and then she picks it up and scrolls to Yang’s name, hovers her thumb over it, then closes out of her contacts. After doing this three times, she finally falls asleep.

Adam follows her into a room with high ceilings, dark, cold. He’s carrying a sword like he usually is in her subconscious; he unsheathes it, deep red, and he’s talking but she can’t hear his voice over the high whine of panic in her ears. _What you want is impossible_ , he shouts, the end of his weapon colliding with her skull; her vision whites out and she collapses. _But I understand. Because all I want is you, Blake_.

She flinches, lifting her head, reaching through the murky black. He kicks her hard and she crumbles backward, but not before she glimpses something outside the broken window: a flash of golden hair. Yang calling her name.

 _I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love_ , Adam hisses, face close to hers. The blade cuts through the air. Yang’s footsteps. _Starting with her_.

He stabs her. She wakes up screaming, clutching her side, face wet with tears.

 

*

_twenty-six_

Yang answers the phone, and Blake’s so surprised and nervous she almost drops it.

“Belladonna,” she says, voice low, almost sultry. “You miss me already, huh?”

“What do you mean, already? It’s been six days.” Blake smiles without realizing, heels clicking on the sidewalk. The air is chillier up north, and she can taste salt in the air blowing in from the bay. “I’m surprised I made it this long without just dropping dead.”

“God, me too.” Blake can hear the laughter in her voice.

“So what are you up to?”

“Just got out of work, so I’m heading home.”

 _Whew_. Blake pulls her phone away from her ear to check Google maps. Yang’s apartment is five blocks away; she can probably beat her there. “Oh shit, Yang, sorry - my boss is calling.”

“Ooh, some big editorial emergency?”

She laughs. “Hopefully not. Gotta run. Call me after six, okay?”

“I’ll call you at 5:59. That’s how much I care.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blake answers. This is where she would say _I love you_ if she wasn’t broken somewhere inside, if her past didn’t hang over her like a thundercloud. She ends the call with “See you soon” and lets the last word echo in Yang’s ears, then presses her phone against her lips, smile spreading across her face.

*

_seventeen_

Blake’s spring break falls just after her seventeenth birthday. Because the universe loves to conspire against her, so does Adam’s.

“Sweetie,” Kali says, creaking open Blake’s bedroom door without knocking. Half asleep, Blake lifts her head. “Are you awake?”

“Kind of.”

Her mother’s already dressed, pulling on a blazer as she talks. “Dad just got an urgent call from the higher-ups - he needs to be in the city tomorrow morning, and I really need to go with him. Will you be alright on your own for a few days?”

“Oh…” Blake’s heart sinks. She imagines the text from Adam the second her parents’ car pulls out of the driveway - he has a sixth sense that way - and she imagines herself getting into her own car, heading for his house. She imagines his lips on hers and wants to vomit. “Of course, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

Kali raises her eyebrows, worry lines etched on her face. “Are you sure, honey? Maybe you could have a friend over to visit. You know I trust you.”

 _Yeah, of course you trust me. Because I’m not the problem_.

“Why don’t you text Adam? Ask him to get together?”

“Actually, I think I’ll invite a friend to stay with me,” Blake blurts out before she realizes what she’s saying. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

“Of course!” Kali brightens. “Someone from school?”

“Umm… you remember Yang Xiao Long?”

Her mother’s face relaxes into a smirk. She absolutely remembers. Blake at ten years old, hysterical in the living room, practically in tears: _Mom, it’s_ her _from my dreams, from all my other lives, I swear! I really saw her! Her hair is like, golden, and she’s so pretty, and she’s actually real, and..._ She didn’t learn to shut up for a couple more years.

“Of course,” Kali says, giving her daughter an indulgent look. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friends now.”

“Well, not… close. But I’ve hung out with her.”

“I think that would be very good for you, honey. Should I call her parents?” She frowns, buttoning her blazer. “Do you have their number?”

“It’s just her dad, and I really think it’s fine,” Blake says. She’s already scrolling to Yang’s name in her contacts, thumb hovering over the “call” button. “Thanks, Mom.”

As soon as Kali eases her door shut, Blake presses it before she can lose her nerve. She holds the phone to her ear, squeezing her eyes shut, listening to one ring, two-

“Belladonna?”

“Heyyyy,” Blake says nervously, eyes closing tighter. She might never open them again. “Um, sorry to bother you…”

“ _You_ , Her Royal Highness Blake Belladonna, bother me? Come on.”

She laughs nervously. “Okay. Um, so I’m on spring break, and my parents are going out of town tomorrow for work. I’m gonna be alone for a couple days so I was just, uh, wondering if maybe you wanted to come stay.” _Does it sound like I’m hitting on her?! Oh my god! It totally sounds like I’m hitting on her._ “Like, stay here. With me.” _You’re making it worse._

There’s a moment of stunned silence - Blake already envisions her searching for excuses, racking her brain. 

“What about that Adam guy? Don’t your parents usually send you over to his place?”

“I don’t…” Blake bites her lower lip. “Um, I don’t really… want to be around him anymore. It’s kind of… well, it’s complicated. But don’t feel like you have to c-”

“Come over to _my_ house,” Yang interrupts, her voice bright. Blake can hear her smile.

“Wh-what?”

“Come stay with me. Seriously, it’s no big deal. My dad won’t mind.”

“Oh, um, I don’t-”

“Bla-aaake,” she sing-songs, and Blake’s heart flips. “It’ll be fun. Plus, if you’re worried about that Adam guy-”

“Who said I was worried?”

“You sounded worried. I was just gonna say, if you’re staying in your own house, he’ll be able to find you. Come over here and he’ll have no clue where you went.”

“O-okay,” she says, feeling like she’s been hit over the head. She’s struck by the way Yang picked up on her fear so suddenly, almost like she felt it as her own. “When should I come?”

“Tomorrow, as soon as you wake up, okay? I’ll be here. Oh shit…” Yang pauses, thinking. “I totally forgot I have school. My break’s not until next week.”

“Oh, that’s f-”

“Whatever, I’ll skip,” Yang interrupts, the smile back in her voice. “So tomorrow morning! I’ll text you my address. You have a car, right?”

Blake almost answers yes, but Adam flashes into her mind - what if there’s some way he can track her car, her license plate or something? He could have her followed. She could accidentally lead him right to Yang.

“It’s, um, in the shop,” Blake says, thinking quickly. “Flat tire. I’ll take a Lyft. And seriously, thanks so much.”

After she hangs up, Blake sits in her bed, staring down at her phone, mesmerized. That was so easy. Almost like she really wanted Blake to be there. She shakes her head the moment the thought enters her mind: _she would never want me. Talk about out of my league._ That would be her luck, wouldn’t it? Be cursed to dream about her other lives, find her soulmate, only to figure out that it’s someone she’ll never actually be with.

*

_twenty-six_

Blake paces through Yang’s apartment building lobby, hands in her coat pockets. It’s a typically nondescript room - boring art framed on painted yellow walls, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling with half the bulbs burned out. She looks up at it and another bulb flickers once before burning out. Outside it’s started raining again, a soft pattering against the sidewalk. Blake checks her weather app just to have something to do; they’re predicting thunderstorms.

As she slips her phone back into her coat pocket, the front door swings open; it’s Yang in a brown leather jacket and yellow scarf tied around her neck, golden hair long and loose and spilling over her shoulders, looking a little disheveled from the rain. Blake remembers that she hates umbrellas. She stares, reveling in the moments before Yang sees her, stretching long and glorious - she never forgets how beautiful Yang is, not for a millisecond, but somehow she still gets caught off guard. It’s something about her aura, bright as ever, sunshine in rain.

Her eyes flicker up as she heads for the elevator and lock onto Blake’s. She freezes, stunned.

Blake smiles weakly and gives her a little wave. “Surprise?”

“You bitch!” Yang shrieks, and hurls herself across the room with reckless abandon. She hits Blake like a meteor, hands twining through Blake’s hair, pulling her so close that their foreheads touch and they breathe each other’s air. “Are you fucking kidding me? How are you _here_?!”

“Well, I took a train.” Blake tries to sound calm, but her voice shakes, betraying her. She cups Yang’s face in her hands and kisses her once, twice, three times. Four. Five. “Look,” she says, gasping for breath. Yang’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes closed. “We should probably…can we go up to your apartment?”

“Yeah,” Yang says, eyes still closed, dark lashes fanning across her cheeks. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you all the minutes you want.” Blake smiles, fingertips pressing into Yang’s shoulder blades. Everything feels like a good decision. Quitting her job, moving out of town, upending her entire life… she would do it a hundred times over as long as it would lead her here.

-

They stumble into Yang’s apartment - Blake feels drunk, even though it’s been forever since she’s _really_ drank. She drops her duffel onto the floor and spins around to face Yang; her face is flushed, blonde hair tangled, and she can’t tear her eyes away from Blake like she’s trying to prove to herself this is all really happening.

“You’re staying overnight?” Yang asks hopefully, finally registering the duffel bag.

“Yang, I lost my fucking mind,” Blake says in a rush, grabbing her hands. “And I never talk like that, so that’s how you know I mean it. I quit my job. Half my stuff’s packed into cardboard boxes - Sun’s been helping me set up the moving van, for god’s sake. I’m totally falling apart.”

Yang’s eyes, the color of spring, of rain on lavender, are alight with some kind of emotion Blake’s never even seen before. They widen, lashes fluttering. Then before Blake knows what’s happening, Yang’s hands are under her thighs, hoisting her up, slamming her against the wall; Blake hooks her legs around Yang’s hips, laughing in disbelief. 

“What are you-”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Yang whispers, eyes falling shut, chest pressed against Blake’s so they can feel each other’s hearts pounding. She kisses Blake hard, deeply, with so much blatant affection that if Blake wasn’t being held against the wall, she definitely would’ve collapsed. Yang makes a desperate kind of noise into her mouth and Blake rakes her nails down her back, nerve endings on fire. Not for the first time, she thinks, _loving this girl could actually kill me._

“Yang,” she answers, lips brushing Yang’s, their foreheads pressed together. “I’m never going to leave you again. I swear.”

She leans back to look Blake in the eyes, stunned. “Wh-what?”

“I mean I spent five years living without you and I…” Something catches, releases, and when Blake blinks, a single tear slides down her cheek. “I’m not going to do it anymore. I know that sounds crazy…”

“That’s probably the least crazy thing you’ve ever told me,” Yang laughs, her voice shaky, and she drops Blake gently back to the floor, catching her around the waist. “And you’ve told me, like, a shit ton of crazy things over the past decade.”

“So, here I am,” Blake says, gesturing shyly at her duffel bag. “This is, uh… all I brought. Sun’s got a new roommate moving in next month, his friend Neptune, so until then… guess I’m homeless.”

Yang’s already shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, you really are.” Yang brushes her thumb against Blake’s cheek, catching the last of her tears. “Welcome home, Belladonna.”

*

_seventeen_

Blake puts weeks of effort into planning Yang’s seventeenth birthday party. 

Actually, she’s starting to think Weiss hates her. She can’t count the amount of late night texts she’s sent Yang’s best friend: what kind of cake does she like? Which of her friends should I invite? How should I decorate the backyard? Will she want Ruby to come? Weiss sounds exasperated in her replies, but not in a mean way. In a grudgingly affectionate way that Blake doesn’t quite understand.

Fortunately, everything is a success. The cake is delicious, plenty of people come, her parents aren’t _completely_ embarrassing, and most importantly, Yang is happy. Blake watches her the entire afternoon into the evening. Yang’s smile could power the stars.

When her mom summons her into the house around nine, she’s forgotten there are still things in life for her to worry about. There’s Yang with her hair hanging in Blake’s face, laughing hysterically while they play Twister. There’s Tai, who waves happily at Blake like he knows what his daughter means to her, and Ruby, who hugs her every time they cross paths. Blake dashes up the porch steps and into the brightly-lit house, expecting Kali to ask her for help in the kitchen. Instead, her mother points at the front door. Her forehead is creased with worry.

“Adam just stopped by,” she says, tone neutral. “I didn’t think you had invited him, so I didn’t ask him to come up…”

 _Shit_. There’s a stinging pain somewhere deep in her stomach; Blake grabs her side instinctively. Her mother, eyebrows raising, doesn’t miss this. 

“Everything okay, sweetheart? He seemed a little…” Kali trails off.

Despair settles over her, a low-hanging cloud. “I’m sure everything’s fine, Mom. If Yang asks…” She catches herself. “I mean, uh, if anybody asks, tell them I’ll be right back.”

Adam’s black Audi is parked in the circular driveway. He’s leaning up against it, arms crossed, in his usual dark jeans, t-shirt, and boots. And he’s furious. Blake can feel it from here.

“Hi,” she calls weakly, trudging down the front porch stairs. Memories flash behind her eyelids each time she blinks: red and black. The hilt of a sword. A bone-white mask. Blood spilled on a marble floor. When she’s around him now, there’s a pull deep inside her soul, the universe vying for her attention, but it’s so, so different than it is with Yang. It’s like a whisper in her ear: _he’s hurt you before, and he will do it again. Life after life._

“So your mother tells me you’re hosting a party.” It’s not a question. His head tilts to the side, mouth stretching into an unnatural smile. “Guess I missed my invitation.”

“It’s not a big… I mean, it’s a birthday thing for somebody you don’t know,” Blake says in a rush, words blurring together. “It’s for my friend.”

“Yang,” Adam confirms.

“Did my mom…?”

“Oh, she didn’t need to tell me, Blake. I know plenty about your life.” His eyebrows lift, feigning innocence. “Isn’t that how it is with friends? Or, isn’t that how it _should_ be?”

She’s losing patience, and for a moment frustration eclipses her fear. “What do you want, Adam? Why did you come here?”

“I thought I’d see if you wanted to spend some time together tonight.”

“Adam…” Involuntarily, she glances over her shoulder; she can hear music from the party, bursts of laughter. His eyes narrow. “You should’ve just called me.”

“Oh, and if I had called, you would’ve come over? I’m starting to feel like those days are long over, Blake. All of our memories… they don’t mean anything to you anymore, do they?”

The question presses on her like fog; there are too many memories and they all mean so many different things. She conjures up one recollection, herself at fifteen, disagreeing with him during a heated political debate in his dining room. She’d gotten up to leave and he grabbed her, yanked her back, leaving ghosts of blue and purple fingerprint bruises up her forearm. He kissed her hard and fast and without a trace of affection; it was a claim, a reminder. _We weren’t finished,_ he had growled at her, and chills shot down her spine.

“Sometimes you’re not very nice to me,” Blake says now, voice trembling. “So no, those memories… I don’t like to think about them.”

She barely gets the sentence out before he’s advancing on her, voice raised. “Then what do you think about, Blake? Tell me, what’s so important that it’s taking up all the space in your mind?”

He grabs her wrist, tugging her toward him; her sandals slide on the gravel. Her heart races when she looks up at him, so much taller, glaring down. No magic words come to mind. Nothing to answer him. Nothing to free her.

“You know how things are supposed to be,” Adam hisses, ice blue eyes sharpening like the edge of ice. “It’s you and me. You and _me_. You will always belong to me. And don’t you ever forget it, Blake.”

He shoves her away roughly and she barely catches herself, digging her heels into the ground, heart in her throat. The stabbing pain hits her again, a memory of a sword flashing - he could kill her right here if he wanted to, right in front of her own house, and no one could do anything to stop it.

Somewhere above her, the front door swings open. “Blake?”

Adam whirls around, a shadow in the dark; she hears his car door slam. Tires squeal as he spins out, leaves the driveway. She leans forward with her hands on her knees, fighting to catch her breath, as footsteps approach from behind. Shame washes over her, a wave crashing again and again… _please don’t let anyone have seen. Please, please._

“Blake,” the voice says again, a man’s. She glances over her shoulder to see Tai, sandy blond hair light under the moon, frowning at her. “You okay, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Blake answers, marveling at how steady she sounds. “Just… wasn’t feeling great, so I came out here for a minute.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but he doesn’t pressure her. Ruby is trailing behind him, chatting away on her cell phone; she catches Blake’s eye and waves exuberantly. 

“Thanks for planning this party, Blake. Really.” Tai smiles warmly. “Yang’s really happy. I’m so glad she’s got you, you know that? Not that she’s ever had crappy birthdays - her uncle and I, we do the best we can, but it’s not the same as having a friend her age to put these things together for her.”

“I know what you mean.” Blake returns the smile shakily. “I… it was no big deal, really. I like to see her happy.”

Tai grins, pats her on the shoulder. “You and I have that in common. I’ll see you around, kiddo. Have a good night, okay? Feel better.”

“Thanks.” She tries to put everything into that word: _thank you for saving me, for chasing him away._ He probably wouldn’t understand. Or he would understand too well. Both options are unthinkable. As he and Ruby get into their car, she runs up the porch steps, through the house, up to her bedroom. 

Nausea roils in her stomach. She barely makes it to the toilet before her knees hit the cold linoleum and she’s violently gagging, knuckles turning white as she grips the porcelain bowl. Cold sweat beads on her forehead and she wipes it away with a shaking hand. 

Finally, she gets to her feet, avoiding her reflection. She turns on the faucet and brushes her teeth, splashes water on her face, ignoring the tears. They start slow and turn into the kind of sobs that wrack your body, make you shake. 

That’s how she’s standing when Yang finds her.

“Blake?” Her voice is soft outside the door. “It’s me. Um, just wondering where you are.”

Blake stills, shock rippling over her body. She glances up at her reflection, her pale face, bloodshot eyes, mascara tear tracks. Her purple crop top is slipping off one shoulder. Maybe she only looks bad up close. When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse from crying. 

“You can come in.”

The door eases open slowly, creaking. Blake can’t bring herself to turn around, but she hears the surprise in Yang’s silence. It crawls on forever.

Finally, she says, “I’ll kill whoever hurt you.”

Blake makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough, wiping her eyes. “Please don’t kill anyone.”

Yang’s voice softens. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

It hits Blake like a comet, like exploding stars behind her eyelids. She can _feel_ Yang’s affection for her like it’s a physical presence in the room. Almost like she’s wrapping her in a hug, soft, warm, safe. She’s never felt so safe before. Blake grips the sink tighter, bracing herself, and says it before she loses her nerve.

“I love you so much.”

Another long silence, this one electric - Blake looks up at her reflection, trying to meet Yang’s eyes, but Yang’s hands are already on her. Her grip is gentle on Blake’s shoulders as she spins her around, and for a moment it scares her, but no… it’s Yang, it’s always Yang, and she won’t hurt her. Her golden hair is loose and windswept and she’s wearing a bright yellow tank top that’s probably about a size too small, face flushed.

“Tell me whoever hurt you,” Yang says, eyes narrowing, voice low. “And I will stab them.”

Blake bursts out laughing. The juxtaposition between her words and how breathtakingly beautiful she looks is just too funny. She smells like cold wind and bonfire smoke and citrus, and Blake leans forward instinctively, wrapping her arms around Yang’s waist. They fit perfectly, puzzle pieces snapping together. Blake buries her face in the space between Yang’s neck and collarbone; Yang’s hands ghost across her back, skimming the hem of her crop top, making circles over her spine.

“I’m serious. I could kick anyone’s ass, ya know,” Yang whispers.

Blake smiles against Yang’s shoulder. “Of course you could.”

“I’ll kick your ass.”

“I really don’t think you will.”

 _I love you,_ Blake says again, but she keeps it in her head this time. _I love you, I love you._

“You want me to stay over tonight?” Yang offers. Her lips brush Blake’s hair, sending a chill skittering down her spine, and she presses her body closer to Yang’s on autopilot.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s your birthday. I’m sure your dad-”

“C’mon, Blake.” Yang raises her arms, wrapping them around Blake’s shoulders instead, rocking them back and forth. Blake starts laughing. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you on my birthday?”

She assumes it’s a rhetorical question.

Usually when Blake sleeps at Yang’s house she borrows an old sleeping bag of Ruby’s, pulls it right up next to Yang’s bed so they can talk for most of the night. There’s no reason to do that here, not when Blake has a giant queen bed made up with fluffy pillows and a soft duvet. After Yang texts her dad to let him know where she is, she changes into Blake’s clothes: a white cotton tank top, a pair of light blue pajama shorts with a pattern of white clouds. It’s a mistake. In retrospect, Blake really should’ve lent her a hoodie and baggy sweatpants or something.

“This is the most comfortable bed in the world.” Yang’s voice is muffled. She’s sprawled across the entire mattress, legs and arms spread, blonde hair everywhere. Blake stands by her closet, staring. How the _hell_ is she supposed to sleep next to her? “How do you ever get up in the morning? Seriously, if I had a bed like this, I’d quit school and become a full-time sleeper.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” Taking a deep breath, Blake switches off the light. She’s wearing her least embarrassing pajamas - gray shorts, black t-shirt - but still, the idea that Yang can see her makes her stomach churn. In the darkness, she crawls under her duvet, as close to the edge of the mattress as possible.

Yang raises her head, still lying on her stomach, hair in her eyes. Moonlight falls across the bed in a pool of silver. “What the hell are you doing all the way over there? You must be exhausted. Lie down already.”

“I-I am,” Blake says, laughing nervously. She slides down, head on the pillow, facing Yang. It’d be too weird to sleep with her back to her, and besides, she can only go so long without needing to look at her. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I just… I didn’t mean to act all weird at the end of your party. Ruin your birthday and everything.”

“Bla-aaaake,” Yang drawls, giving her name about five extra syllables. She rolls closer, wrapping her arms around Blake, whose brain shuts down entirely. Everything is very warm, very bright. “I had the best birthday _ever_. Of my _whole entire life_. And I know it was because of you, so you can stop it with this whole ‘Weiss planned it’ bullshit.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Blake mutters, indignant at the impression.

Yang pulls her to the center of the mattress; there’s nothing uncomfortable or awkward about it, nothing pushy. She has a knack for figuring out exactly how to make Blake the most comfortable. Blake pushes her bangs out of her eyes and turns her head to face Yang, smiling.

“It was really your best birthday ever?”

“Ever,” Yang says with dramatic emphasis. She wraps her entire body around Blake’s arm, burying her face against her shoulder; it’s like cuddling with the sun.

“Yang, I’m really glad, and I’m happy that you’re staying over. But seriously. Why is your internal temperature, like, 150 degrees?”

“It’s because I’m burning up with passionate love for you,” Yang says dryly, and Blake laughs and thinks, _if only._

They fall asleep like that, curled together, and for the first time in twelve years, Blake doesn’t remember her nightmares.

*

_twenty-six_

It’s still thundering that night, a distant low rumble, the occasional white flash of lightning, as Blake drifts in and out of sleep. Yang had insisted on pulling the curtains back when they got into bed and she’s lying awake still, fingertips absently ghosting down Blake’s arm, lilac eyes pale in the light from street lamps outside. Every time Blake jolts awake and sees her there, comfort washes over her like the ocean, still and calm. 

“Blake,” Yang says, so quiet it’s barely a whisper.

She opens one eye. “Yeah?”

“Just checking to see if you were awake.”

“If I’d been asleep, then you would’ve woken me up.”

“Then mission accomplished.” Yang winks at her, sliding down lower in bed so they’re face to face. “Look. Something’s bothering me.”

“Is it the fact that I’m not getting enough sleep?”

“Oh yeah, you need sleep?” Yang asks. “You got a big day at the office tomorrow?”

Blake laughs, burying her face in the pillow. “Shut up. Don’t remind me of my risky decisions.”

“Somebody has to. Okay, no. This is what’s bothering me. If you’re going to live here…”

“I really don’t have to,” Blake interrupts. She’s suddenly wide awake, fear coursing through her like a live wire in every nerve ending. “Honestly. I can… you know, stay in an AirBnB for awhile. Or crash on somebody’s couch. Weiss’s, maybe. She has nice couches. It’s really not a-”

“Belladonna, get a grip. You really think I don’t want you here?” Yang rolls closer, brushing a kiss against Blake’s temple. Her lips are warm; Blake burrows closer to her, letting her loop her arms around her back. “I was gonna say, if you’re going to live here, we should really… figure some stuff out.”

Blake’s eyes pop open. “Stuff?” she asks, even though she knows exactly what Yang means.

“Yeah. You know, like…” Yang takes a deep breath and Blake feels her chest rise; she lifts her head so she can look her in the eyes. She expects confidence but only sees apprehension, hope. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me when I say this.”

“Excuse me?” Blake laughs. “ _You’re_ nervous? You, Yang Xiao Long of ‘I don’t give a shit, I’ll say whatever I think as soon as I think it’?”

“Shut up,” Yang says, smoothing Blake’s hair back with a tenderness that catches Blake off-guard. Her golden eyes flicker up to Yang’s, soft and full of wonder. Sometimes when she looks at Yang, she sees her in all the ways she’s been; forget past lives, she’s been a million different people in this lifetime alone. The ten-year-old with pigtails, the gangly teenager waiting for her outside Beacon in a pair of ripped jeans, the girl who punched Adam in the face and showed up dripping blood on Blake’s dorm room floor. Blake remembers all of her, loves all of her. She knows what Yang’s trying to say, so she does the work for her.

“Be my girlfriend,” Blake says quietly. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to Yang’s forehead so she can pretend to ignore Yang’s sharp intake of breath. “Please. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Really?” Her voice is small. Blake has very few memories of Yang sounding unsure.

Blake laughs. “Yang. You have _no_ clue how long I’ve been in love with you.”

*

_seventeen_

Blake remembers it like this: freezing rain, ice coating Yang’s driveway and turning it into a river of silver under afternoon clouds. Tai had dragged a Christmas tree into the living room, a balsam fir covered in ornaments from Yang’s and Ruby’s childhoods, and the entire house smelled like pine needles. Adam can’t find her here. There was a conversation she had with Tai one morning when Yang was out running, one that Yang never finds out about - Blake showed him a photo of Adam on her phone and asked him to please, please never let him in if he turned up at the house. Tai had given her a long look, then nodded.

Coming in from the rain, they drop everything in the hallway: coats, scarves, boots, Blake’s stupid pom-pom hat that Yang always makes fun of. “You don’t care if I stay?” Blake asks.

Instead of answering, Yang grabs Blake’s wrist, pulling her upstairs. Blake’s dizzy, like she’s not really in her body, and too aware that Yang’s the only thing keeping her upright. They end up in the upstairs bathroom that she shares with Ruby, small with a red and white flowered shower curtain, the sink cluttered with toothbrushes and chapstick and hair ties. 

“You’re gonna get hypothermia,” Yang says, turning the shower on, twisting the handle so it hits the highest temperature. Steam fills the room as they stand in the semi-dark, still laughing. “Seriously, your lips are turning blue.”

“No, they’re not!” Blake squeals, horrified the second the words leave her lips, because _that was definitely flirting and Yang could_ definitely _tell._

“Oh my god!” Yang whirls around and grabs Blake’s hands; her heart stutters, starts again frantically. “Your hands are totally numb! Your teeth are chattering! Guess you better get in the shower!”

“Yang!” she laughs, squeezing her hands as tightly as she can get away with. “I’m not getting in the shower in my clothes!”

“Suit yourself.”

“Oh my god, Yang.” They break apart, Yang stepping into the shower fully dressed. Water splashes over her body, dampens her long blonde hair, turning it dark. Blake’s mind whites out. All she can think about is getting close to her again, eliminating the space between their bodies, pressing close.

“It’s like a sauna in here,” Yang says. “You’re missing out.”

“You’re insane.” Blake steels herself, then yanks her sweater over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She pushes the shower curtain back with one shaking hand and steps inside. “Come on, you have to let me under now, or I really _am_ gonna freeze to death.”

Yang’s taller, about four inches; Blake reaches for her instinctively, like she has no control over her body, and skims her fingertips along Yang’s forearm. Her skin is fire, eyes shining, and when they meet Blake’s she swears for a second the lavender changes, flashing red. _She is so much more than me_ , Blake thinks, even as she steps closer, even as they both gasp and breathe the same air. Humidity presses down in a suffocating cloud. Slowly, she reaches up to brush the damp bangs out of Yang’s eyes and they’re calm again, a purple jasmine sky.

 _I love you_ , she thinks, like a shout into the void. _I’ll love you ‘til I die._

Blake remembers everything. She reaches through the water, slides her fingers through Yang’s thick hair, pulling her closer; her fist clenches and Yang makes a noise that pulls the air from her lungs. She remembers pressing her lips to Yang’s, innocent and slow. She remembers the way Yang’s eyelashes flutter and close but Blake keeps her own eyes open, stunned, waiting for lightning to strike, for the world to crumble to ash, because surely, surely she can’t get what she wants in this many lives. 

If she wanted, she could tip this all over the edge. She thinks about it late that night when they’re curled in Yang’s twin bed, pressed close together; Yang’s sound asleep, breathing deeply, but Blake can’t stop envisioning how she could’ve pulled off their clothes, felt her burning warm skin against hers, done things to Yang that she’s never even considered before. She could’ve gotten on her knees, made her come undone. The idea sends a jolt of electricity through Blake’s entire body; she skims her fingers over the waistband of her pajama pants, dipping lower with a sharp intake of breath, but then Yang stretches in her sleep, curling closer, and Blake feels her heart turn to molten lava. It hurts to love someone this much, she thinks, wrapping an arm around her waist. If she had it her way, the night would stretch on forever, the sun would never rise again.

They had gotten out of the shower and changed in separate rooms, put on their own pajamas, and watched TV together until almost midnight. No discussion, no awkwardness. But Blake felt the change in the way she looked at Yang; softer now, like a light switched on, the stars finally come out to shine. 

“Sleep with me,” Yang had said, sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, hand outstretched. Moonlight poured through the window. Blake hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason to say no.

*

_twenty-six_

“That long?” Yang asks, eyes widening. She traces a finger along Blake’s jawline. “We were, like, basically kids. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.”

“You were so…” Blake trails off, searching for an adequate descriptor and coming up short. “You were everything. And then there was me… this, like, sad, scared little girl. I didn’t stand a chance. It just completely broke my heart.”

“What broke your heart?”

“Feeling like you wouldn’t like me back.”

Yang’s eyebrows shoot up practically to her hairline. “You couldn’t tell?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what finally tipped you off? Me practically stripping your clothes off in the shower?”

Blake laughs, leaning back against the pillows. “You’d think, huh?”

“Seventeen was rough. Wouldn’t go back if you paid me.” Yang frowns, reconsidering. “No, never mind, I would. I’d just do some things differently. Like, I’d actually tell you how I felt.”

“Honestly, I think I knew deep down. I was just… really scared to jinx it.” Blake studies her face in the shining light from the moon, the streetlights. “Nobody had ever loved me the way you did.”

“What do you mean?”

She takes a slow breath, shifting on the mattress. “You loved me like no matter what I did, you would still… still see me for who I really was. Like I could feel it in the dark. In the in-between before we were born into this life, into you and me… I think I could probably even feel it then.”

Yang sighs. “Belladonna,” she says, and pulls the duvet high over both of them, cuddling closer, wrapping Blake in warmth. “It’s gonna be an adventure having a goddamn poet for a girlfriend.”

She’s used to that word reminding her of warning signs, jarring alarms, flashing red lights. But coming from Yang, it sounds like home.

*

_eighteen_

They get their acceptance letters to Atlas University on the same day.

Blake can tell, obviously; it’s a huge envelope, so big it barely fits in the mailbox, but she still drives over to Yang’s house like she promised. She had texted Yang a quick “meet me in your front yard” before getting behind the wheel. When she pulls into the driveway, Yang’s lying in the grass waiting for her, clutching an identical envelope, still unopened. 

She sits up when she hears Blake’s engine and says something. Blake can’t hear her, but she reads her lips through the glass. _Do you have it?_

Blake parks and leaps out of the driver’s seat, barely remembering to close the door behind her. She holds her up her envelope triumphantly.

“Oh my God!” Yang scrambles to her feet, running to Blake. “I _knew_ you would get in too. It’s fate.”

“Is it fate?” Blake teases. “Or am I just a good student?”

“You were _meant_ to be with me,” Yang says confidently, and obviously Blake can’t argue with that. “Look, we do have to talk about one thing, though. If Weiss gets in, she’s definitely gonna want to room with me.”

“You guys can room together. I don’t mind.” It’s the truth. The idea of sharing a room with Yang gives Blake hives; she would have to be on edge constantly, changing clothes in a bathroom stall, worrying about whether or not she snores or sleep-talks, and if she ever brought some guy - some girl? - back to the dorm, Blake would probably just spontaneously combust.

“Are you sure about that?” Yang frowns. “You look a little weird.”

“I promise, it’s really fine. I stay up late reading anyway, I’d probably drive you crazy.”

“I stay up late too.” Yang reaches out, twines a lock of dark hair through her fingers, lets it slide out of her hand. It’s gestures like that that make Blake want to drop out of school entirely and just follow Yang around for the rest of her life. “We could stay up late together.”

“Doing what?” Blake asks, and regrets the words the second they’re out of her mouth. 

A pink flush creeps up Yang’s cheeks. “Talking,” she says slowly.

They both stand there in the yard, staring at each other, wondering who’ll break first. Blake laughs nervously, looking away; it hurts to stare into the sun, it hurts to look at someone as beautiful as Yang, especially when she knows she’ll never be hers. She blinks and Yang’s throwing herself at her, arms locked around her shoulders, face buried in the crook of her neck.

“I’m happy,” Yang mumbles, voice muffled. “I’m really happy I don’t have to leave you.”

 _Baby,_ Blake imagines saying, _you’ll never have to leave me_ \-- it’s so close to spilling out, her heart on her sleeve, alive and pounding. She wants to fall to the grass with Yang in her arms, breathe her in, knot her fingers in her golden hair, tell her everything. But the words get stuck. She holds her breath, one hand nervously reaching to touch Yang on her lower back. She can feel her warmth through her loose cotton t-shirt, the curve of her spine. Before she can say anything, her phone vibrates in her pocket.

Everything turns black and white. The name on the screen burns her eyes. “Hey,” Blake says, nerves turning to steel, the way she’s learned to live. “I have to take this, but I’ll meet you inside in a second, okay?”

“Okay.” Yang scoops up both of their acceptance letters bearing the Atlas logo and darts across the lawn. When she reaches the front door, she turns back, hair rippling in the wind, and smiles widely at Blake. It’s the only thing that gives her courage to answer the call and press her phone to her ear.

“Blake, where are you?”

“I’m in the car,” she lies easily. Close enough. She was in the car ten minutes ago.

“Going where?”

“Adam, why do I need to tell you?” she snaps. “What have I ever owed you?”

“Excuse me?” His voice quiets, and she flinches even though she can’t see his face. “What’s wrong with you lately? You never come over anymore. Half the time when I call you, you’re too busy for me. It’s like you just stopped caring.”

She swallows over the lump in her throat. “It’s… it’s not that. I just, um… I’ve been pretty stressed with everything that’s going on.”

“It’s April.” Adam laughs, cold, full of disbelief. “What are you possibly stressed about? You’re an adult now. You can do whatever you want without your _parents_ breathing down your neck.” She can hear the typical sneer in his voice; for the past few months, she’d been using her mom and dad as excuses for why she couldn’t spend time with him. “Classes are ending soon and your finals don’t matter, so you can’t possibly be stressed about school. Or college, for that matter.”

Her acceptance letter to Mistral had arrived last month; that had been the last time she’d seen Adam. She’d actually driven to his house to show him the letter herself, naively thinking maybe it would get him off her back. It’d had the opposite effect. He wants to plan everything now: where she’ll live, what classes she’ll take, where she’ll intern during the summer. He talks about his off-campus apartment all the time. She visualizes plain white walls, dark corners, a room where she’ll be expected to sleep.

Blake clenches her jaw. She will run, and he will not be able to stop her.

“Well, you know, it’s still stressful. The idea of moving away,” Blake says. Yang opens her kitchen window, waving impatiently; Blake returns the gesture. 

“You should be relieved to be leaving your family. We’’ll be able to spend so much more time together this way. It’ll be just like it used to be, Blake. Trust me, everything will be better.”

 _Trust me._ Blake wants to laugh out loud. Instead she focuses on Yang, who’s leaning on the windowsill, head cocked to the side, watching Blake with soft lavender eyes.

“Still, it’s hard to leave everything behind,” Blake says, trying to sound wistful. 

He has no idea that there’s nothing she’s leaving behind. Only an endless happiness spreading out in front of her, a long and winding road, an infinity of future lives wrapped in purple and gold. 

*

_twenty-six_

Blake’s drowning in cardboard boxes.

Fortunately, she’d left most of her furniture with Sun, not being overly attached to the random pieces she’d acquired from Ikea and Target over the years. His new roommate will probably get some use out of it. Yang’s apartment is smaller than hers; it’s a one-bedroom, of course, plus the living room is tiny, and there’s no dining area at all. They order takeout and Yang flops out on the floor to eat it, letting Blake take the couch. Yang has a TV and a Netflix account, and sometimes they put shows on in the background, but mostly they just talk. Catching up on the past five years is exhausting, but Blake wants to know everything: what Yang’s classes were like after she left school, who she lived with (Weiss, for the rest of their time at Atlas), how she ended up living here. 

At the same time, Yang’s desperate for stories about Blake’s life at Vacuo, the school she transferred to.

“It was hot,” Blake says honestly. “Other than that, pretty boring.”

“Hot but boring?” Yang grins. “Can’t relate.”

Blake rolls her eyes, throwing a pillow at her. They’re sitting on the living room floor, some stupid home renovation show playing on television. Her boxes are stacked everywhere, labeled in Sharpie marker, some still packaged shut with masking tape. “It’s a college in the middle of the desert. There was nothing to do, nobody interesting to hang out with.”

“You were there for two and a half years and you never found anyone to hang out with?”

“Not really,” Blake says, shrugging. “Well, I met Sun in one of my literature classes senior year, so at least I had someone to talk to when I got _really_ bored.”

“And you guys never…?”

“Never.” Blake makes a face. “Are you kidding?”

“He seems like a nice guy.” Yang smiles, and Blake wonders if she’s happy with the confirmation, if maybe she should scream it from the top of their building just to make it abundantly clear that she’s never, ever loved anyone like she loves Yang.

“Sun’s great,” Blake says. “It was nice that we both wanted to move to the same city after college, too. He was the only one who had the vaguest idea of why I ended up at Vacuo.”

Yang leans forward, elbows on her knees. “You’ve never even told _me_ why you ended up there.”

“It was something different, I guess. It was far away. You know, I used to be completely terrified by that idea. Being a long plane ride away from my parents. From everything I knew. But it… well, it turned out fine. I took myself by surprise, pretty much.”

“It was that easy to be away from me, huh?” Yang asks, and Blake can tell she’s only half kidding, smiling sadly. She reaches out a hand, not even sure what she’s reaching for, but Yang takes it, interlacing their fingers. 

“Well, that was the worst part.” Blake brings her hand to her face, pressing her lips to Yang’s knuckles. She thinks about the scorched earth and dusty paths on campus, the nights when the wind would howl against the windows while she laid awake alone in her dorm room, sitting in the unforgiving sun that turned her skin bronze and faded the colors of her clothing until her entire life felt washed-out. She doesn’t usually let herself think about Vacuo too long. 

“Blake?” Yang prompts. Her lavender eyes are wide, watching her with a delicate grace Blake doesn’t usually associate with her. 

“I thought maybe I could run,” Blake says, looking down. “Because if I made a new life for myself… like, even if it was as simple as having different chairs to sit on, a different grocery store to shop at, a different view out my dorm room window, maybe that meant I was a little bit of a different person. Not the girl who’d been broken a million times, and not the girl who let grief and pain and fear chase her away, but the girl who chose to leave. The fact that I made that choice…it gave me control. It…it gave me power.” Blake swallows hard, tears welling in her eyes. “And I had needed to have power for so long.”

Yang leans in, lips brushing against her cheeks, kissing away her tears. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again,” she breathes, and Blake lets out a sob, leaning into her. “You’ll never have to be alone again.”

*

_twenty-two_

The wind kicks up, red dust swirling, choking. Heat is what she’s become accustomed to: smothering pressure, a vise clenching around her heart and cracking her ribs. _Maybe I’ve run far enough_. It’s a refrain she keeps in her head constantly, checking in on herself. There are no calls from unknown numbers on her phone, no shadows outside her bedroom window. She still hates when men look at her a little too long.

“You,” a voice growls from behind her, low and menacing; she spins, heart thrumming, and he’s walking toward her. She digs her heels into the ground. A sharp pain splinters through her side and she drops to her knees, hunched forward, arms folded against her chest - he’s coming to do it now, he’s coming, and nothing she did was ever enough, and nothing will ever be enough -

Yang is next to her, rooted to the spot, eyes lilac like spring, innocent and wide and searching. She reaches out a hand to Blake, spreading her fingers wide like she can’t understand why Blake isn’t touching her. 

“Adam,” Blake chokes out, lungs filling with smoke - the world is on fire, everything burns, and she knows she caused it, somehow. It doesn’t matter how. It’s what she does. “I thought I…”

His face is covered by the nightmare mask, bone white splashed with red, and as he walks closer, his sword scrapes the ground. Metallic, grinding. Blake’s vision goes fuzzy and she can only see Yang, golden hair spilling as she turns to face Adam, steeling herself. _Run_ , Blake tries to scream, but her throat is dry, everything is empty, her voice is gone. Yang hangs her head, defeated, and Adam brings the sword crashing down.

Blake screams, wrenched out of sleep, sweating, body wracked with sobs. She wakes up alone, and there is no one, and there is nothing.

The next week, she graduates from Vacuo University and moves across the country with Sun. She starts her internship, goes shopping for business casual clothes with her mom, decorates her room with Polaroid pictures she’d taken during her year and a half at Atlas. There’s one of Yang sitting cross-legged in the grassy quad, Blake’s head resting on her shoulder; they’re wearing each other’s clothes, Blake in a red plaid flannel, Yang in a white crop top, both of them laughing. Blake props it up on her bedside table. She never touches it again.

*

_twenty-six_

Until she’s standing in her now-empty bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes.

Her books and clothes and photo albums and electronics are all packed up. There’s the skeletal bedframe, a mattress stripped bare; she says a farewell to sleeping alone, lips pressing into a smile. The bedside table is chipped white paint, ten bucks at a yard sale years ago, and she’s leaving it behind. She lifts the Polaroid from its place and brushes her thumb against the print. She and Yang at eighteen years old are glowing, alive with the knowledge that they had forever, time a golden ribbon spinning out before them, an invisible red thread twining them together.

She smiles and slips the photo into the back pocket of her jeans.

*

_nineteen_

“I’m just saying!” Weiss yells over the pounding music, slurring all her words together. Her white blonde hair is slipping out of its usually perfect ponytail. “You’re in love with her. You’re in _love_ with her, Blake.”

Blake clenches her grip around her red Solo cup. “Could we maybe be, um, a little quieter?”

“I’m talking at a perfectly normal volume.” Weiss leans closer, one hand pressing into Blake’s shoulder. “Are you ever planning on telling her?”

“How much tequila is in that, anyway?” Blake plucks Weiss’s drink out of her hand, sniffing it, and makes a disgusted face. “That’s so vile. Maybe you should drink something normal like beer. Easier on your stomach.”

“No,” Weiss says haughtily, taking her drink back. “And maybe _you_ should… _do_ something normal like… like... not kissing somebody for six months and then acting like that’s okay.”

Blake’s face flushes; she’s not _that_ drunk, not yet, and anybody could overhear. “That party was five months ago, but good to know Yang tells you all of our personal-”

“Of course she does! I’m her best friend.”

“And plus, not that it’s any of your business, but we kissed right before we went home for winter break.” Blake takes a nervous gulp of her Blue Moon, then adds a lame “so there.” 

Weiss’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you fucking with me?”

It plays in Blake’s mind like a full-color movie, soundtrack and everything. She’d already finished packing her suitcase and was sitting on Yang’s bed watching her struggle to cram about twenty sweaters into a backpack, blonde hair tangled and sticking out at weird angles. _Fuck these stupid sweaters_ , she had growled, kicking the backpack over, fists clenched, and Blake had burst out laughing. _What?_ Yang had asked, eyes flickering over, suddenly self-conscious. It only took seconds to get up and walk to her, but it felt like an eternity - Blake had grabbed her, two fistfuls of her baggy t-shirt, and kissed her hard. She still remembers the expression on Yang’s face, diamond clear, shock and confusion and elation all at once. She had licked her lips, staring, and said to Blake, voice raspy, _you can do that more often._

 _Okay,_ Blake had answered, suddenly shy, shocked by her own boldness. That had been the last time.

“I’m not telling you anything more,” Blake says now. Her face is getting warmer; she scans the room, trying to find Yang in the crowd. The lounge is packed with their friends. Today’s her nineteenth birthday and it happened to fall on a Friday, so Yang had convinced everyone to gather in their building as long as they didn’t make a huge fuss over Blake.

“ _Please_ just ask her out already,” Weiss pleads. She downs the rest of her drink, tosses the empty cup aside, and then clutches Blake’s hands in hers, squeezing tight. “Please. Blake, honestly, it’s killing me. If you’re scared because you think she doesn’t like you - she really, really does. Take my word for it.”

Blake’s stomach clenches, a shiver of apprehension running down her spine.

“Okay, first of all,” she begins, but immediately freezes on the spot. Yang’s shouting her name, winding her way through the crowd, smile wide and bright and lighting her entire face. Golden hair cascades to her waist in tangled waves. She’s wearing one of Blake’s white t-shirts and a pair of ripped denim cutoffs, long tan legs, sparkling gold gladiator sandals. It’s a ridiculous outfit for early March. Blake wants to marry her.

“Oh, look,” she hears Weiss drawl sarcastically behind her. “Here she comes now, the platonic love of your life. Go have PG-rated sex like all gal pals do.”

She flounces off to talk to Pyrrha. Yang watches her go, laughing - she didn’t hear any of it, or at least that’s what Blake tells herself.

“What’s wrong with Weiss today?”

“Probably getting her period.”

“I think that’s just typical Weiss, actually. God, look at you.” Yang steps back, drink in hand, folds her arms, and looks Blake up and down like she’s admiring a painting in the Louvre.

“What?” Startled, Blake fights the urge to cover herself up with something - couch cushions, maybe. She’s dressed totally normally. She definitely did not stand in front of her bedroom mirror picking out the perfect black crop top to pair with the perfect jeans and perfect high-heeled boots. “How drunk are you?”

“Moderately drunk,” Yang announces. “Happy birthday! Did I tell you that yet?”

“About a hundred times since I woke up this morning, yeah.”

“Happy birthday! That’s a hundred and one.” She wraps Blake in a hug, arms loose around her waist, and runs her fingernails up and down against Blake’s bare skin, the small of her back. _Jesus Christ,_ Blake thinks, swallowing hard. _I have to be way drunker for this._ “Happy birthday! A hundred and two.” 

“Thanks,” Blake says awkwardly, not sure of where to put her hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she lets them rest on Yang’s back, stroking her hair slowly. Bad move. Her stomach flips upside down, the world goes blurry. Yang’s body heat is burning her alive. She glances across the dark room - Weiss and Pyrrha are laughing, deep in conversation, staring directly at them.

 _Shut up_ , Blake mouths.

“Are you talking?” Yang asks, lips brushing Blake’s cheekbones. “What are you talking about?”

“I, um… nothing.”

“I love everything you say,” Yang continues matter-of-factly. Her voice is slurred, too loud, but somehow she’s not close enough. Blake’s heart stutters an uneasy rhythm. “What’s it like being nineteen? Tell me all about it.”

She rests her head on Blake’s shoulder, like she’s really waiting for Blake to spin her some tale of the adventures of turning another year older. 

“It’s pretty much the same as eighteen.” Blake chugs the rest of her beer with Yang attached to her like a leech. When she tosses the can aside into the trash can, she catches sight of Weiss and Pyrrha doubled over in laughter. Yang tilts her head, blinking adoringly up at Blake.

“Hey, Blake?”

Blake clears her throat. “Yeah?”

Yang stands up straighter, letting her lips hover at the side of Blake’s mouth for a second too long. Blake breathes deeply, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip, and _that’s_ a mistake. It happens so fast she almost falls over - Yang pushes her backwards, tripping over her until Blake’s back smashes the wall. She kisses Blake quickly, over and over, warm and intense - _where the hell did she learn how to kiss like this?!_ Blake thinks, utterly bewildered, brain short-circuiting. Yang’s fingernails scratch up her sides, leaving marks. When her lips part, Blake feels herself come back into her body; she cups Yang’s face in her hands and deepens in the kiss, tasting tequila and grenadine. The room fades away, bottles and tables and chairs and people vanishing, stars winking out of existence. There’s no music, no light, only her. 

Blake breaks the kiss because if she doesn’t, she might never catch her breath again. She rests her forehead against Yang’s; they’re both panting, no trace of laughter.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Blake says shakily, trailing her fingers down Yang’s spine. She makes a humming noise and leans closer, burying her face in Blake’s neck, sighing. Blake’s heart is beating out of her chest, pounding against her ribcage, which Yang will _definitely_ feel, and oh my God this is the most stressful birthday anyone has ever had in the history of time.

Yang mumbles something by her ear.

“What?”

“I said, I’ll go anywhere with you.” 

“Okay, you drunk idiot.” Blake laughs nervously, looping her arm around Yang’s back to keep her upright. “How much did you have to drink, anyway?”

“A lot. I’m sorry. I wrecked your birthday.”

“What?” She blinks up at Yang, surprised. “Are you kidding? You just almost killed me by making out with me, which is… uh, quite a way to go.”

“Blake, I’m a _mess_ ,” Yang says dramatically as Blake steers her out of the room, down the hallway. Blake can practically feel Weiss’s eyes burning a hole in her back. “A complete mess. I’m a disaster lesbian.”

Blake trips, barely catching herself, and Yang starts laughing. 

“What’d you just say?” Blake asks, eyes wide.

They’re outside Yang and Weiss’s room now, but they don’t go in. Yang sways on her feet, turning to face Blake, arms still wrapped around her waist.

“I don’t feel great,” she announces. “Actually… I’m probably gonna throw up.”

Blake blinks, still trying to catch up; the world is moving too fast and also way too slowly, everything at the same time, and Yang’s eyes are _so_ beautiful, sparkling lilac, sunset after rain. 

“Okay,” Blake says, forcing herself to be calm. “I better get you into your room-”

“No,” Yang interrupts. “No, I’m gonna sleep in your room.”

“Oh, you are, huh?” 

“Yes. I’m - I’m gonna sleep in your bed. I’m gonna…” She pulls back from Blake suddenly, going very white.

Blake grabs her own door handle without thinking about it, wrenching the door open, shoving Yang into her attached bathroom as gently as possible. “Try to puke in the toilet,” she says in a rush; Yang barely makes it there, collapsing in a heap on the floor. She gags so hard her whole body shakes. Blake catches her, holding her hair back, running a hand across her shoulderblades. She says a bunch of things quietly that she would never, ever say if she were sober, and it’s only safe because she knows there’s no way in hell Yang’s listening, let alone able to hear her.

“Please, go to sleep,” Yang moans finally, resting her head against the palm of her hand. She’s flushed and sweating. “This is so… so gross. You don’t have to sit in here with me.”

“It’s okay.” Blake rubs slow circles across Yang’s back. “If I try to go to bed, I’ll just lie awake worrying about you anyway.”

Yang turns her head, giving Blake the purest, most honest, loving look she’s ever seen in her entire life - and then she immediately whirls back around to vomit up the rest of the contents of her stomach. Blake barely has time to gather Yang’s hair in her hands. She pulls a hair tie off her wrist and ties it back into a loose, low ponytail, then fills a plastic cup with cold tap water and delivers it to her.

“Try to take a sip,” Blake says encouragingly.

Yang looks up, completely miserable, lavender eyes brimming with tears, and takes a little sip of water. She never looks away from Blake. Finally, she coughs and sets the cup down.

“This is the worst birthday ever,” she sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Yang, it’s not your birthday.”

“I know, it’s yours! And I’m wrecking it.” Yang holds Blake’s face in her hands, studying her, fingers tracing her jawline, eyes darting back and forth; Blake forgets how to breathe. “Blake… Blake, I love you. I love you. Please don’t ever leave me, please.”

Blake gasps, pulling back an inch, and Yang drops her hands, clearly worried she said the wrong thing. Her eyes flutter shut, blonde ponytail hanging limp.

“Yang, you’re just drunk,” Blake says. There’s a weird ringing in her ears. “You - you won’t remember any of this stuff in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Yang says, hoarse. She gives her a small smile. “But I’ll still feel it.”

“Okay,” Blake says quietly, grabbing a washcloth from her shower and dampening it, washing Yang’s face. She wanders next door, drunker than she realizes, to pick up Yang’s toothbrush, and makes sure she brushes her teeth, then offers her pajamas and turns her back. Ten seconds later, Yang’s passed out in Blake’s bed.

When she’s sober, she usually sprawls out like a starfish, limbs everywhere. Drunk Yang makes herself very small. Blake spends longer than necessary wrapping her in the duvet, tucking the fluffiest pillow under her head, making sure her hair is still tied back in a loose ponytail, pulled away from her face. Then she slides in next to her. Yang’s eyes flutter open.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Blake says, flinching. “I woke you up. Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.” Yang smiles sweetly, still on the edge of sleep, and reaches out a hand to touch Blake’s face. Her fingertips are warm; she tucks a strand of dark hair behind Blake’s ear, then trails her fingers down her neck, across her shoulder. Blake relaxes into her touch. “D’you wanna know what I was dreaming?”

“Sure,” Blake says softly, snuggling closer.

“It was you and me, but we were far away. In a city…” she pauses, yawning. “A city in the sky. The sky was always blue like sapphires. I slept in your bed there too. You were crying, so I held you.”

“You… dreamt that?”

“It was nice.” Her eyelids fall shut, her lips barely moving as she whispers. “Another life. I think. But I loved you there too, just as much. I loved you forever.”

Her breathing deepens. Blake stares at her, stunned.

“Belladonna,” Yang says, and Blake knows she has to be drifting off again, one foot in a dream already. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t know how to answer, so she just does it, heart flooding with love, face flushing pink. Her lips brush Yang’s gently, feather light, lingering. Blake feels her smile against her mouth; Yang curls into her, stretches, and she’s asleep.

In the morning, Yang doesn’t remember a single thing she said. Blake never forgets.

*

_twenty-six_

“I’m not a fan.” Yang steps out of the Nordstrom fitting room, spinning in a tight circle.

Blake looks up at her from her chair in the corner and promptly chokes on her iced green tea.

“Yeah,” Yang says, nodding, turning to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. “My thoughts exactly. It’s a little bit, like…”

“You look like the eighth deadly sin,” Blake says hoarsely, coughing into her shoulder, and leans back into the chair, shell-shocked. “Like, it’s definitely not wedding-appropriate, but please buy it anyway and wear it around the apartment.”

Yang laughs, tossing her head back, hair spilling down her back; Blake’s face flushes. The dress is gold, which was Pyrrha’s only request for her bridesmaids. From there, she’d encouraged them to go with whatever style they liked and send her a photo. Yang’s first choice is gold, all right - it’s also slit all the way up to her upper right thigh, all soft satin, the neckline dipping practically to her belly button. It fits her perfectly, but if anybody but Blake ever saw that much of Yang’s boobs, she would probably have to kill them out of pure jealousy.

“I’ll consider it,” Yang says over her shoulder, winking, and flounces back to the fitting room. “You stay out there. It has to be a surprise.”

“I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.”

“You’re so gaaaay.”

Some woman in her sixties walks out of the adjacent fitting room with an armful of pantsuits and gives Blake an odd look on her way out. Blake smiles at her weakly.

“Maybe be a little quieter in there,” she calls to Yang.

“It’s hard to be quiet when you’re out there being so gay for me. It’s deafening. Can’t even hear myself think.”

Blake bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Okay, come zip me up. I think you’ll like this one better.”

Blake sets her drink down on the floor and heads over; Yang swings the door open. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, elastic straining to contain all of it, lavender eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that Blake knows usually means she’s about to be wrecked in some way. 

“Okay,” Blake says, nodding slowly. “ _That_ dress is perfect.”

“It’s not even zipped up yet! C’mon, hurry up, and then maybe we can get the hell out of here.” Yang turns around, tugging her ponytail out of the way. Blake trails her fingers down Yang’s spine, slow and deliberate, just to see the goosebumps spread across her skin. 

“Belladonna,” she snaps. “Do you _want_ to end up fucking in a department store?”

Blake laughs, gently zipping up the dress. “I mean…”

“You’re such a mess.” Yang whirls around, pressing her lips to Blake’s; when she pulls back, her face is rosy pink. “Tell me what you think. Is this the right one?”

The bodice is embroidered gold brocade, low-cut but not insanely so, satin and perfectly clinging to the curve of her narrow waist. It ends in a soft golden ribbon wrapped just above her hips, then tumbles like a waterfall, a long, sleek tulle skirt. 

“When you’re in a wedding, you’re not really supposed to look better than the bride.”

“Please.” Yang rolls her eyes, but her lips quirk up at the edges. “You - you think it looks that good, though? I think it looks pretty good.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that, narcissist. Please go buy it before I have to rip it off you.”

“I think I’ve heard you say something like that before,” Yang says, turning back around to let Blake unzip her. Blake wants to cry at the memory of the engagement party, at how it felt to see Yang again after all that time, after the hell she’d dragged herself through alone; she remembers a quote from a poem, _like everything I’ve ever lost come back to me._ “So what d’you think? You wanna look for your own dress now?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what I wear.”

“It matters to me. If you’re walking around with me like this, you’ve gotta look equally good.” Yang winks again, slipping the straps over her shoulders. Blake pulls the fitting room door shut. “Kidding. Like I could ever look like I deserve you.”

“Who’s being gay now?” Blake smirks, cupping Yang’s face in her hands, watching her eyes soften. “Get changed so we can go home.”

*

_nineteen_

Thanksgiving break is the first time they come home together. And not just road tripping in Blake’s car, trunk packed with luggage, blaring music down the highway before dropping Yang off at her house. _Together_ together.

Blake parks crooked in the driveway, too stressed to worry about fixing it, and cuts the engine, looking desperately over at Yang. “You _really_ think we need to tell them? You don’t think they’ll just… completely freak out?”

Yang doesn’t look quite as nervous, but Blake notices the little signs because she knows her so well; the close-lipped smile, the way she fidgets with the hem of her Atlas University sweatshirt. 

“I just don’t think there’s any reason for us to hide it,” she answers. “Let’s just get it over with and see what happens. And you still wanna spend the night, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Okay, so then tomorrow we’ll go over to your place and tell _your_ parents.” She goes a little pale at the thought. Blake pats her arm.

“Let’s just go in. It looks like Ruby’s already losing her shit.” Blake can see her through the kitchen window, jumping up and down, waving her arms like some kind of high-speed windmill. Yang sighs and they climb out of the car, Blake popping the trunk so they can grab their bags.

Tai and Ruby are waiting in the entryway when Yang swings the front door open, sporting matching grins; they’ve strung up a _Welcome Home_ banner that looks like Ruby made it herself, and it brings an automatic smile to Blake’s face. Everyone talks at once, hugging, laughing, and Yang tosses her backpack onto the floor as they head into the kitchen. Ruby climbs into a chair backwards, grinning up at them.

“Okay, shut up, everybody,” Yang says, steeling herself, and Blake’s mind goes blank with abject panic. _Now? She’s doing this_ now _?!_ “I have to tell you both something.”

Tai’s eyebrows raise and he folds his arms across his chest. “That… makes me nervous.”

On the other hand, Ruby’s eyes light up, sparkling silver, darting between the two of them. She watches as Yang nervously reaches out to take Blake’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Um… Blake and I are, uh, together now. Like. Girlfriends. She’s my girlfriend.”

For a minute, the house is completely silent except for Zwei panting and running circles around them, begging to be pet. Tai and Ruby just stare, expressions unreadable. And then - 

Tai bursts out laughing. “ _That’s_ the big announcement?” He runs a hand over his face. “I’m shocked, you guys. Shocked. Never saw it coming in a million years.”

“Finally!” Ruby squeals, launching herself out of the kitchen chair and flinging her arms around Blake. “You’re officially my other big sister now!”

“Ruby, for the love of god,” Yang says, covering her face with one hand. “I’m not _marrying_ her.”

“You’re not?” Blake asks under her breath.

Yang digs her elbow in her ribs. “Shut up. Don’t encourage her.”

“Seriously, Blake, I’d say welcome to the family, but…” Tai chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t really remember a time in the past few years when you haven’t been here.”

She flushes deep red, letting go of Yang’s hand to brush her bangs out of eyes. “Um, thank you. I - that’s really nice of you.”

“Does Weiss know?” Ruby shrieks, dancing circles around the two of them. “Can I call her?”

“Of course Weiss knows.” Yang rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning.

“Oh.” Ruby’s face falls. “I have to text Penny! We’ve been discussing this for _years_!” She grabs her cell phone out of her pocket.

“Blake, we’re glad to have you back in the house,” Tai says, giving her a warm smile. She remembers standing in this same kitchen years ago, nervously showing him photos of Adam on her phone, asking him to please not let him in. Silently begging him to keep her safe. It had seemed like a tremendous request, an unthinkable burden to place on his shoulders, but he had never questioned her. She feels a ripple of understanding pass between them now. “It hasn’t been the same with the two of you gone.”

“Thanks for having me-” Blake starts, but Yang’s hand is already closing around her wrist, tugging her toward the hallway.

“Blake’s tired,” she calls to her family over her shoulder. “You guys are monopolizing her. We’ll see you later.”

Ruby laughs, still typing one-handed on her phone, waving good-naturedly; as soon as they hit the staircase, Blake can hear her talking to Tai in low, conspiring tones, voices full of laughter.

“They’re so embarrassing.” Yang drops Blake’s hand, and to make up for the lack of physical contact, immediately starts walking so close to her that Blake can feel her body heat radiating like a second sun. She doesn’t seem aware that she’s doing it. Blake’s lips quirk into a smile. “Seriously, you’d think I never brought a girlfriend home before.”

“Yang.” Blake shoots her a look. “You’ve never brought a girlfriend home before.”

“How would you know?” Yang asks, teasing, turning around to walk backwards, facing Blake. She’s grinning, golden hair spilling over her shoulders.

“Uh, because I’ve known you for practically your entire life.”

“And ten thousand lives before.” She swings open her bedroom door and Blake tries to ignore the hammering of her heart, the way her palms sweat when she looks at Yang for a second too long. 

Inside, everything looks the same as she remembers. The walls are painted pale yellow, yoga mat and weights on the floor, framed photos on the dresser - lots of family pictures, lots of Yang and Weiss, including the classic favorite of them as five-year-olds wearing pigtails and leotards and pink tutus, but there are plenty of Yang and Blake too. There’s a Polaroid from last spring propped up against a stack of textbooks, the two of them sitting in the grass, laughing. Blake smiles and Yang catches her.

“You can keep that one if you want,” she says, returning the smile. “I’ve looked at it so much I have it memorized.”

“It’s a picture, not a poem,” Blake laughs, but she takes it anyway, slips it into her purse.

They order pizza and spend the evening talking, indigo darkness falling fast, a light autumn rain pattering against the windows. Ruby sits and chats with them for awhile before running off to her friend Penny’s for a sleepover, and Tai leaves eventually too, for dinner plans with Qrow. It’s just Blake and Yang with the entire house to themselves. Blake thinks of all the times it’s been like this in the past - when they were younger they’d sneak into Ruby’s room and play her video games while she was out, or they’d take over the kitchen to make cookies, only to get sidetracked by conversation halfway through and end up sitting on the counter eating raw dough out of a mixing bowl. It was always cozy and comfortable. There’s something electric in the air now, a shift in the current, and Blake knows that Yang feels it too.

“We should really make the most of this,” Yang says quietly, lavender eyes glimmering as she sneaks a look over at Blake. They’re sitting on her bed. Somehow over the past half hour, Blake’s ended up practically in her lap. She leans closer, resting her head on Yang’s shoulder. “Having the house to ourselves.”

“We’ve been alone together plenty of times before,” Blake reminds her, a chill running down her spine. Automatically, she shifts closer to Yang. 

“I know. I remember.” Yang looks down, golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, full lips twisting into a smile. “You wanted to be my girlfriend the whole time, I bet.”

Blake recognizes the tone, the game she’s playing, and goes along with it without a second thought. “Oh, from the day I saw you.” She’s never told Yang about the actual first day she saw her: ten years old, sitting under the oak tree, Yang stretching her arms to the sky. She’s never told Yang what she thought: that this girl was the actual sun, the center of her universe, the focal point of every dream and past life she’s ever had.

When Yang touches her, Blake feels like she’s leaving her body. It’s ethereal. She brushes her fingertips slowly up and down Blake’s arm, lavender eyes heavy, lashes fluttering. The room is dark except for the glow of star-shaped string lights tacked to the wall.

“But I never thought about actually dating you,” Blake says honestly. “We were miles apart, I thought.”

Yang wrinkles her nose. “Miles apart? You live, like-”

“No, I don’t mean physical miles.” Blake swallows hard. “It’s like… you were everything perfect in the world. Why would you ever like me?”

“You thought I was perfect?”

Blake’s stomach flips, lurches with anxiety, is she _really_ going to say this: “I still think you’re perfect.”

Yang crashes against her before she can prepare herself, take a breath. Her hand holds the back of Blake’s head, twisting her fingers through wavy black hair, their lips pressing together, hot and insistent. Yang deepens the kiss almost immediately and Blake’s heartbeat kicks up, heat pooling between her legs; she has to stop herself from moaning out loud. No one gets this lucky. No one, no one.

Minutes pass and Blake pulls off her sweater, then Yang’s, tossing them to the floor. She’s still struggling to process what’s happening when Yang pulls back, grip tightening in Blake’s hair. She fumbles with the button on her jeans, pulling them off in one fluid motion, and then comes right back to Blake, pressing her chest close. Her skin is burning; Blake wants to touch her everywhere and never stop.

“Okay,” she breathes against Blake’s mouth, gasping like the room is draining of oxygen. “I wanna… um, I want you to…”

Blake’s eyes fall shut, like she can’t bear to her it. “Wh- um, what do you want?”

“Lie on your back,” Yang says, resting a hand on Blake’s shoulder; she does, resting her head against Yang’s pillow. It smells like citrus, like her shampoo, and it’s so familiar, so perfect, that Blake almost wants to cry. She’s more preoccupied with whatever Yang’s hands are doing… sliding down her sides, tugging off her pajama shorts. Immediately, her entire body tenses.

Yang looks up, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just…” Blake swallows, licking her lips. “Wh-what are you, um, doing?”

Yang slides one hand slowly up Blake’s thigh and she lets her head fall back to the pillow again, breathing in sharply, whimpering. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of course I d-” She breaks off with a sharp inhale when Yang grazes her fingertips over her underwear, hooking her thumbs under the waistband, pulling down.

“If you’re not okay, just tell me,” Yang says, and Blake doesn’t miss how her voice shakes, how different she sounds. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Okay?”

 _Stop what?_ Blake almost says, but a part of her knows, and she nods instead, desperate. “Okay. Okay, I will. Yang, please… I need you to…”

She trails off. Can’t say it. Fortunately, it seems to instill some confidence in Yang; she smirks, lavender eyes flashing, and her head dips between Blake’s legs.

“Relax,” she whispers, her breath ghosting across the bare skin of Blake’s upper thighs, and she almost passes out. She squeezes her eyes shut tight, reaching for Yang, twining her fingers through her long golden hair - Yang slips her fingers inside her and Blake hears her gasp, feeling how wet she is. “Holy shit.” 

“Y-yeah?” Blake answers shakily, opening her eyes, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. The sight of Yang between her legs is almost enough to knock her out; she’s wearing nothing but a deep purple push-up bra and black boyshort underwear, hair loose and tangled, rose lips swollen from kissing. She smirks at the expression on Blake’s face.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“You,” Blake says in disbelief, and Yang’s smile widens; she pulls her fingers out one by one, licks them clean while staring directly into Blake’s eyes, then lowers her head again. Nothing on earth could’ve prepared Blake for it. Her tongue replaces her fingers, wet and hot and insistent, swirling circles, finding the perfect rhythm, and Blake _knows_ for a fact that Yang’s never done this before, but holy shit, holy shit.

Yang laughs and the vibrations make Blake arch her back against the mattress; maybe she accidentally said that out loud.

“Yang,” she pants, digging her nails into the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the cotton sheets. “ _Yang_ , fuck, stop for a sec.”

Immediately the pressure’s gone, Yang pulls back, sitting up in a crouch. Lavender eyes, wide and serious, find Blake’s face. Her lips are bright red, glistening. “Are you okay?”

“I’m - yeah, I’m fine,” Blake says, breathing hard, propping herself up on her elbows. “I’m - okay, switch places with me.”

Yang jerks backward. “What?!”

“Do it. Please?”

She didn’t even need to add the please. Yang is already crawling up next to her, blonde hair everywhere, and the sight momentarily derails her. Blake reaches behind Yang’s back to unhook her bra, tosses it aside, and kisses her everywhere, hot and open-mouthed, across her collarbones, down her chest. Yang’s jaw falls open, eyes closing, dark lashes dusting her cheeks, and whimpers, Blake’s name falling from her lips, louder and louder. Blake swallows hard, mouth going dry. _This is it. This is the thing that’ll finally kill me._

“Can I…” Blake can’t say it out loud. She straddles Yang’s shoulders, one knee on either side, aching for Yang to touch her. 

“Oh my God.” Yang swallows audibly, running her hands up and down Blake’s thighs, gently at first and then digging her nails in. “Holy fucking shit. Can I please?”

“ _Please_ , Yang-” Her tongue is inside her before Blake can even finish the sentence, and she almost collapses, almost breaks apart. No one’s touched her like this in her entire life; no one’s ever cared so much about keeping her safe. Yang licks up and down, varying the speed, sucking hard, and Blake grips the headboard so hard her knuckles turn white. When she finally comes apart, shaking, muscles tensing, dark hair falling across her face, Yang scratches the backs of her thighs hard; the pain heightens everything, crackling red and orange sparks alight in the dark, the universe bursting and breaking apart. She always thought people were lying about seeing fireworks, seeing stars. It’s all true.

She falls back onto the bed next to Yang, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath. They lie side by side, warmth and darkness a comforting blanket. Yang rolls onto her side and touches Blake again, but gentler now, with a different intent. She runs her hands over her hips, scratches her nails up her sides, cups her breasts, licks and sucks gently at her collarbone. Blake’s eyes fall shut and she sighs, heart thrumming against her ribcage.

“You’re okay?” Yang asks one more time, and this time Blake can hear a new shyness in her voice, a worry. 

Blake opens her eyes; they feel heavy. She moves closer, rolls onto her side, pressing up against Yang, feeling her heartbeat.

“Baby,” she says, soft, low, and Yang shivers against her. “How the fuck did you learn how to do that?”

She laughs, surprised, and buries her face in the space between Blake’s neck and shoulder. “Just kinda guessed.”

“Good job. Jesus. That was…” No one’s invented words for what that was. Blake’s still trying to catch her breath; she smoothes Yang’s hair back from her face, kissing her forehead, her eyelashes, her cheeks. “I just… I really love you.”

“I love you,” Yang says, smiling like a sunrise, stretching her arms around Blake to pull her even closer. Already Blake can feel her entire body burning for her. It’s never enough. They can never be close enough.

*

_twenty-six_

At the apartment, Blake has Yang pose for about twenty pictures in her bridesmaid dress. Some with her hair up, some with her hair down and cascading in golden waves, some sitting, some standing.

“This is _so_ excessive,” Yang complains, laughing. “Pyrrha doesn’t give a shit about this.”

“Maybe I need a new lock screen.” Blake sticks out her tongue and Yang laughs harder, doubling over; Blake snaps five more pictures, texts a few to Pyrrha, then sets her phone down. “Okay. Go change. Cutie.” She tacks the nickname on just to see if she can get away with it.

“Excuse me,” Yang says as she sweeps off to the bedroom, bare feet barely visible under all the tulle. “What happened to thinking I’m hot? Does this mean we’re getting all domestic and boring?”

“Why, what happens if we’re domestic? You dump me?” Blake wanders into the bedroom. Yang’s carefully stepping out of the dress, late afternoon sunlight pooling on the hardwood floor. “I think we stopped tiptoeing around being domestic when you practically begged me to move in with you.”

Yang turns, golden hair swooshing dramatically over one shoulder; she’s wearing nothing but a pair of white bikini underwear, and Blake inhales sharply. “I don’t _beg_.”

Blake just stands in her bedroom doorway. She can’t make any snappy comebacks when Yang looks like that, and Yang knows it, smirking as she places the dress back on its hanger and carries it to the closet, careful not to let the skirt drag on the floor. 

“Since you’re the one who gave up your entire life to follow me around,” Yang drawls, “I would choose your words very carefully. Now take your shirt off.”

Blake splutters, completely caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”

“You know what it does to me when you look at me like that. I’m soaking wet.” She slides a bunch of sweatshirts aside to make room for the dress, then closes the door and walks back to Blake. When she stops just in front of her, Blake runs her hands up Yang’s sides and she leans into Blake’s touch, sighing. Yang’s eyelashes flutter; her eyes darken to a rich purple, pupils blown out.

“That’s all it takes?” Blake smirks, pulling off her tank top and tossing it aside. Yang immediately presses close to her, skin practically burning, hands sliding up the ridges of Blake’s spine, the arches of her shoulderblades. “Just a look?”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” Yang kisses her deeply, with an intensity that seems to come out of nowhere, and Blake’s heartbeat kicks up. Will she _ever_ get used to that? Probably not. She’s tangling her hands in Yang’s hair, Yang kissing down her jawline, down her neck, biting her gently at the space just above her collarbones, when she suddenly pulls back.

“Okay, wait. So I have to ask.” Yang runs her hands over Blake’s back, down her arms. “What’s with the tattoo?”

“Oh,” Blake says, surprised, and her smile vanishes. Her shoulders rise and fall, breath returning to her slowly. “I got it when I was twenty-one. It kept me sane when I was going through a really, uh… a really awful time. It’s, um… it’s just… something that somebody said to me once.”

Yang raises her eyebrows. “Somebody?”

“Um…” Blake clears her throat, looking away. “You.”

“What?”

“It’s… it’s hard to explain. I know you get this stuff, kind of, especially after all these years, but it’s still - I still feel weird about it.” She takes a deep breath. “You said it to me once. In another life. I know that sounds crazy - I can still hear it. Like my heartbeat. _Give me your ghosts. Give me your demons,_ and then you said, _I’ll fight them all with my bare hands_.”

Yang’s lavender eyes widen, and Blake knows she’s being ridiculous and it’s all wishful thinking, but for a split second, she swears to God she sees a flicker of recognition on her face. Of remembering. But then it’s gone, and of course it was. It was imaginary.

“Of course I said that,” Yang says confidently, back to her old bravado. She wraps Blake in her arms and the world falls away. “Because in every life, that’s what I would do.”

*

_twenty_

Blake stands motionless in the doorway of her Atlas University dorm room, staring across the hall at Yang’s closed door. This is not happening. This _cannot_ be happening. It’s a nightmare, another nightmare, it’ll fade, she’ll crawl out of this soon, waking slowly, gasping for air…

She squeezes her eyes shut and it’s painted behind her eyelids, vivid: Yang swinging the door open, standing there with blood dripping from a cut on her throat, terror in her eyes as she searched the room for Blake, finally landing on her. The two of them in the bathroom, Yang perched on the edge of the tub as Blake cleans the copper-red blood from her skin, fighting back tears. _Adam just wants me to leave you alone,_ Yang had said.

Blake pinches her forearm, opens her eyes. Everything is still the same: cinderblock hallway, tan wood door, colorful construction paper taped to the front with Yang’s and Weiss’s names written in cursive. She’s not dreaming. This is really happening.

Fury blinds her, sends her whirling around, slamming the door - she sees the bruises springing up along Yang’s shoulders, fingerprints, and she sees the flash in Yang’s eyes when Blake says it, _I’ll protect you_. It was stupid… she should have never…

She’s dialing a number, the phone is ringing, pressed to her ear before she knows what’s happening. Adam answers almost immediately.

“Blake,” he says, and she can hear the smile curling through his voice, sick and twisted. “I thought I might be hearing from you.”

“You’re a fucking freak,” she spits. Her hands are shaking.

“Darling, don’t be like this. It’s not very attractive.”

“Adam, I’m serious. I-I’m dead serious.” Blake takes a deep breath, digging her fingernails into her bedpost, holding herself upright. “You stay away from her. You are _never_ going to touch her again.”

“Let me ask you a question.” His tone changes, loaded with self-pity - Blake’s used to it now, she knows how to brace for impact, for a slap in the face. “How do you think I _felt_ , Blake? Hearing about how you’ve moved on? You moving away after everything we used to talk about… after everything we planned… well, that hurt me, obviously. But hearing about this slut you’re sleeping with… oh, Blake, talk about poor life choices-”

“Shut up!” Rage courses through her, a wildfire, an electric storm in her blood, and she has to _do_ something - she grabs the desk mirror from her dresser and throws it across the room just to hear it shatter, to see the glass scatter across the floor like diamonds.

“Sensitive subject,” Adam says quietly, and he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s interesting. Blake, why don’t I take you home? It doesn’t have to be like this. You _know_ this isn’t who you are. You and I were meant to be so much more.”

 _He’s still on campus_. Fear hits her like a wave, almost overpowering her anger; she fumbles with the lock, clicking it shut, imagining him pacing the hall. Looking for Yang. The flash of a knife - a bone white mask, a blood-soaked sword -

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you,” she hisses.

“Then you’re a coward, just like Yang.” 

“Leave us alone.” She runs to the window, yanking her dark purple curtains shut, heart pounding in her ears. “I’m serious, Adam. Leave me-”

“Why would you close the curtains?” His voice is low. 

She chokes on her gasp, fear spiking through her, a physical pain. As she pulls the phone away from her ear, she hears the last thing he says, a question hanging in the air, thick with barely-controlled fury. “What do you even see in her?”

With shaking fingers, she hits a number from her speed dial. 

“Campus Security.”

“Hi, this is Blake Belladonna, I’m in Haven Hall, room 311? Um, I have a…” She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting back nausea. “My-my ex-boyfriend, he’s on campus, and I don’t want him here, he knows where I live-”

She hears commotion in the background, doors swinging open. “I understand. Where was he last seen?”

“He…” Blake sucks in a deep breath, realizing that she’s crying, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. She tries to unscramble her thoughts, tries to picture where he could be on campus that would offer a view into her room. “He, um, I think it was by the Psych building about an hour ago, but I don’t know where he is now - he might be in the quad…”

“We did receive a report about ten minutes ago about a suspicious man in that area. We’re dispatching officers now, Blake.” The officer’s voice softens. “Would you like me to stay on the line until he’s apprehended? Are you alone?”

 _Alone_. The word hits like a knife to the gut. She swallows. “Um, I’m alright, thank you. I locked my door. Could someone give me a call back when he’s gone?”

“Of course.” The officer confirms her phone number and Blake hangs up, crawling onto her bed. Her hands are freezing cold; she wraps herself in the duvet, staring at the door, phone in hand.

The call comes roughly fifteen minutes later; he was taken to the downtown police station. She thanks the officer, but the knowledge doesn’t bring her any comfort. They won’t lock him up, they can’t get him on anything. And if they did… then what? They’d drag her in to testify, probably. To stand in front of him and make her case. And what proof does she have, really? What evidence that can’t be wiped aside and hidden by his father’s money?

Blake pulls open the top drawer of her bedside table, rummages through the journals, a wad of cash, lip gloss, hair ties, until she finds it: the silver switchblade she took from her father’s office when she left for her freshman year at Atlas. She clicks the trigger, twirls it between her fingers, grips the handle tight, and sits there, staring at the door, until the first light of morning spreads across the floor.

*

_twenty-six_

It’s late July, a week before Yang’s birthday, when Blake has the nightmare again.

The room is cool and crisp, window unit air conditioner whirring and humming, casting a breeze across their bed. It had lulled Blake to sleep earlier in the night, a comforting white noise. In her dream, it turns to wind, dry and howling, cutting through skeletal trees. The sky is blood red and choked by clouds. She turns slowly; he’s behind her. He’s always behind her. 

She wakes up fast, sitting up, sobbing brokenly into the darkness, but this time there’s Yang. Hands to brush her sweat-drenched bangs off her forehead, arms to wrap around her shoulders and hold her to earth, a voice in her ear whispering reassurance, a beacon of safety. Blake turns around to bury her face in the crook of Yang’s neck, shoulders shaking, tears dampening Yang’s shirt and turning it to dark orange.

“It’s okay, Blake. It’s okay. I love you,” Yang whispers, hands rubbing slow circles across Blake’s back, and she’s nineteen again, crumbling to pieces, scared and shaking and never able to tell anyone anything. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve made her talk about it. Yang never did. She let Blake sob her lungs dry without question and never forced her to talk through the tears. 

Blake falls back to sleep that way, cradled in Yang’s arms, heartbeat slowing to a rhythm she recognizes, that she names: _I’m safe_.

-

Morning sunlight crawls across the bed, warm and golden and pooling across Blake’s face. She cracks her eyes open. Faint clattering noises drift in from the kitchen; the Keurig machine switches on, hot water pouring into a mug, and within seconds Blake can smell some horrible mixture of raspberry and - what’s the other thing? Maybe caramel? She wrinkles her nose and pushes back the comforter, wandering barefoot out into the living room. 

Yang’s leaning up against the counter, curtains swept aside in the kitchen window. Her hair is unbrushed and tangled and she’s still wearing her pajamas, sipping from an Atlas University mug. The coffee smell is even stronger out here, steam swirling and twisting in the air. When she sees Blake, her eyes crinkle with a smile over the lid of the mug.

“Oh look, it’s Sleeping Beauty,” she says. “I thought I was gonna have to kiss you to wake you up from your decade-long sleep.”

Blake rolls her eyes, plopping down on the couch. “I slept for a normal amount of time, thank you very much.”

“I was going to make you some tea, but I didn’t want it to get cold,” Yang says. Blake can feel it, the way she’s looking at her, the set of her shoulders. She’s actually saying something more like _something happened to you that is so bad it wakes you up crying, screaming, and the pain is so visceral that I can feel it too._

Blake bites her lip - there’s the familiar burning feeling at the backs of her eyes, the familiar way her breath shortens to little gasps like it’s preparing sobs. “Thank you,” she says, but she’s really saying _I can’t tell you._

Yang rummages through the cupboards, coming up with a handful of packets. “I got Earl Grey and English Breakfast. Wasn’t sure which one you liked better.” _Why can’t you tell me?_

“English Breakfast is good,” Blake says, voice tight. _I just can’t._

Yang gives her a long, searching look, mouth drawn in a serious line. Blake can’t look at her anymore; she folds her hands in her lap and picks at her nail polish. She listens to Yang banging around in the kitchen, brewing the tea, pouring water into the kettle. She doesn’t look up again until she hears Yang opening the refrigerator.

“A little bit of milk and two sugars, right?” she asks.

Blake smiles hesitantly. “Yes, please. Thanks for remembering.”

“I remember all kinds of things about you,” Yang says lightly, but Blake hates the undertone she hears; it twists her stomach into knots, activates some trigger behind her tear ducts, and by the time Yang carries the mug of tea into the living room, Blake’s pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.

“Blake,” Yang says softly. She sets the mug on the coffee table and climbs over to Blake to sit on her other hand, resting one hand on her knee. Blake looks up at her, and when she blinks, one tear slips down her cheek. “What are you not telling me?”

_*_

_twenty_

After Adam’s appearance on campus, Blake barely sleeps. Two days go by and everything’s blurry. The idea of going back home is paralyzing: he will wait there, she knows it now. He will be waiting, and she will have to go to him. 

She shivers, hunching over the dining hall table where she’s been hiding out that afternoon, cradling her phone between two hands. That night, she’d blocked Adam’s number, but things like that never really stopped him. Only made him angrier. Biting her lip, she taps her phone’s home button. Her lock screen is a picture of Yang from earlier that semester, when the leaves were just turning from deep green to auburn, gold, burgundy. She’s wearing tight jeans and boots and one of Blake’s favorite sweaters, yellow hair streaming over her shoulders, laughing and reaching toward the camera - reaching for Blake. She takes a deep breath, then stands, shoving her phone into her coat pocket.

 _I’ll protect you._ Yang never needed protection. What a stupid thing to say.

She makes her way to their building through the snow, hat pulled low over her eyes, shivering against the bitter wind, or maybe her own fear. It’s a familiar path, one she could find sleepwalking. When she knocks on the door, Yang’s answer comes almost instantly. 

“Come in.”

Blake pushes the door open with a click, steeling herself. “Hey.”

Yang’s lying on the bed still in her pajamas, hair tugged back into a ponytail. She just stares. Nervously, Blake pulls her hat off and shakes out her hair. Her eyes rake over Yang’s body - angry, horrific, dark bruises spread across her shoulders, a pattern of fingerprints, and Blake has to choke back her terror.

“Yang, the other night with… with Adam,” Blake says, voice shaking. “I, um… I get what you were doing. I just hope you know - I hope you remember, everything I ever told you was true. I meant all of it.”

Yang’s shoulders tense. She sits up straighter. “Why are you saying goodbye to me?” 

“I’m not saying goodbye,” Blake lies.

“Blake. Don’t,” Yang says, reaching out a hand. She gets to her feet slowly, and as much as Blake tries to ignore it, she can’t miss the tears welling in her lavender eyes, clear and bright. “Please. Don’t… whatever you’re doing, just -- don’t. I love you so much.”

Blake looks at her long, hard, memorizing. She remembers Yang’s eyes locking onto hers, steadying, her hands in her hair: _You don’t belong to anyone. You’re free._

You were wrong, Blake wants to say. I am yours until I die.

Slowly, she tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, then walks out of Yang’s bedroom without another word. 

_*_

_twenty-one_

At first, Blake runs, and no one catches her.

Christmas break is easy enough. Her parents had booked a cruise months ago, and they’re delighted that she’s finally interested in accompanying them on a trip. She spends most of December leaning off the rail of a ship and staring at the rippling waves, churning turquoise and white, listening to seagulls squawk. She rings in the new year with a glass of golden champagne, and when it fizzes against her tongue, she only tastes Yang, only sees the sparkle of her eyes when she smiles, the curling tendrils of her hair slipping through Blake’s fingers.

She breaks the college news to her parents on the last night of the trip, and they’re feeling fond enough of her that they indulge her plans. Blake tells plenty of lies… study abroad programs where she can write in seaside castles, coffee shop meetings where she can read her work out loud, a scholarship for students who want to intensively study postmodern literature. By the time their ship docks, Ghira is ready to make all the necessary calls. She’s enrolled in Vacuo University within the week. Before she knows it, she’s flying west, away from everything she’s ever known.

Her room is another single. She drops her bag and immediately heads to the Health Services building she saw marked on the campus map. They give her a bunch of paperwork to fill out; she curls up in an uncomfortable waiting room chair, tapping a pen against her chin.

_What brings you to the counseling center today?_

Blake stares at the question. _I’m afraid my ex-boyfriend is going to_

She stops herself before writing what she really wants to write.

 _follow me here,_ she finishes. _I just transferred from a school across the country and I’m all alone._

 _I’m scared,_ she writes. Thinks for a minute. Then crosses it out so vigorously she almost tears the paper.

-

Blake turns twenty-one while she’s home for spring break. She had checked the Atlas University calendar; miraculously, their breaks don’t overlap. Ten days. That’s how long she has at home. That’s how long she needs to hide from Adam.

“Sweetie?” Blake wakes to Kali sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair. Her mother’s face is more lined than Blake remembers, especially now, looking down at her with her eyebrows drawn together in worry. “Are you feeling alright?”

It’s instinctual for Blake to brush these questions off like they weigh nothing, like water slipping through her fingers. Years of fighting have broken her down, bled her dry. She rolls onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Mom,” she whispers. “Do you - do you ever just feel like you… maybe like you just… made a complete mess of your life?”

Blake can hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “I can almost guarantee that everyone feels that way at your age. It sounds like you’re having a pre-quarter life crisis.”

“W-would you…” Blake bites down on her lip hard. If she cries, Kali will follow, and she can’t bear to be the cause of somebody else’s misery. “If I tell you something, do you promise to believe me? Even if it sounds… really weird?”

“I’ll always believe you, sweetheart. You’ve certainly believed me throughout your childhood whenever I had to explain things to you… all the things about our family.” She squeezes Blake’s shoulder gently. “You were always so brave, honey.”

“I don’t feel brave,” Blake mutters into her pillow. Slowly, she pushes herself up into a seated position, golden eyes finding her mother’s. “You know I haven’t really - I haven’t seen Adam Taurus in awhile.”

“Oh,” Kali says, surprised. “I assumed that Adam was just… well, Blake, you’ve barely talked about anyone other than Yang for the past year. And he’s so much older than you…”

 _Now you notice?_ Blake thinks, but holds back. “Mom, if he comes by the house at all while I’m home… will you please tell him that I’m not here?”

Kali’s eyebrows raise. “But, Blake…”

“I’m scared,” Blake says, barely audible. 

Her mother watches her. Blake thinks she can see the pieces slotting into place: the way she stopped going over to the Taurus house when her parents were out of town. The confusion over why Blake would want to leave Atlas, to leave Yang.

“Blake, sweetheart…” Kali searches for words. Her hands find Blake’s shoulders, holding her gently. “Did he - did he hurt you?”

She expects the question; she dodges it. “He doesn’t want me to be with Yang. I’m - I’m scared of what he might do if he finds out I’m back in town. He might go after her, or…”

“I should call the police,” Kali says, growing more alarmed by the minute. “If you’re this afraid… if you really think he poses this much of a threat…”

“No, Mom, please, it’s not a big deal, honestly. I-I just don’t want to see him.”

“Alright.” Kali stands slowly, frowning down at her daughter. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I just… I wanted to talk to you about it because I, um…” Her voice breaks. “I miss you when I’m away, Mom.”

“Sweetie, I miss you too when you’re away. More than you could imagine.” Kali bends to wrap her arms around Blake and she breathes in slow, trying to pretend that maybe, maybe her mother could actually protect her from everything terrible in her world.

-

That night, Blake dreams about Yang’s house.

The front yard, green and meticulously mowed by Tai. The red-painted mailbox, the wooden porch with floorboards that creaked under your feet, Yang’s upstairs bedroom window. The thick clusters of trees on either side of the house.

The shadow, persistent out of the corner of Blake’s eye, darting. 

She’s calm when she wakes. That’s how she knows she’s doing the right thing. During the entire drive, her heartbeat is steady. Atlas isn’t on break yet, and Ruby’s away at school too now. It’s a Thursday morning, so Tai will be at work. No one will be there to see her, but more importantly, no one will be there to get hurt.

After parking in the driveway, she gets out and stalks around the perimeter. The trees sway in a gentle spring breeze, the sky a brilliant robin’s egg blue. She pads through the dewy grass. Everything looks the same as usual, even though it’s been about two years since she was last here. Sunflowers grow tall by the kitchen windows. Keeping close to the treeline, she walks slowly into the side yard and looks up, shielding her eyes against the sun.

Yang’s room has had floor-length lace curtains since she was a little girl. Once, she told Blake that Summer had hung them for her, so she’d never had the heart to take them down as she grew older. Blake stares at them, remembers all the mornings she saw them from inside that room, fluttering against an open window, breathing in rainy air, Yang’s arm draped over her body, careless in sleep. She swallows hard. 

She’s still watching when one of the curtains is yanked aside, a flicker of movement, but forceful. Strong. A dark shape, taller than Yang. There are no cars in the driveway besides Blake’s.

Her jaw falls open. She staggers backward, suddenly clumsy, unable to tear her eyes from the window - it’s not a hallucination, not a nightmare. It takes her an entire millennia to reach her car. Heart in her throat, she crawls inside, fumbling for her car keys. In the adrenaline-spiked moments before she gets the key into the ignition, she swears she hears a noise behind her. The click of a lock, the swing of a door.

Blake waits until she’s out onto the main street to reach for her cell phone, hands trembling. Her legs are shaking, making it hard to keep her foot pressed on the gas pedal. The numbers on her keypad blur - she can’t do this driving, she’ll crash. _Breathe, just breathe,_ she imagines Yang saying. She hits her turn signal and pulls over into a parking lot. It looks nondescript enough: a bank, a Chinese restaurant with a ‘closed’ sign hanging in the window, a tall building advertising office space.

She closes her eyes, resting her head on the steering wheel. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Phone in hand, she climbs out of the car, steadying herself with one hand. Clumsily, she unlocks her phone and pulls up the keypad. Her breaths are shallow. Before she can move, a car jackknifes around the corner, tires squealing, and she jumps back - it misses her by inches.

The black Audi slams to a stop to her right. Her phone slips out of her hand and shatters on the asphalt, glass dusting against black tar, and she remembers her Atlas dorm room, the broken mirror refracting pieces of her reflection up to the ceiling. 

“The prodigal daughter,” Adam drawls, slamming his car door shut. He walks toward her slow like in every nightmare, black leather jacket stretching across his broad shoulders. His blue eyes glimmer with a sharpness that turns her stomach, makes her grab her side, fingers closing over an imaginary scar. “I’m surprised your return wasn’t more dramatic.”

“You were in her house.” Blake’s voice is a live wire. She tosses her hair back and her fear transforms to fury. 

“Excuse me?”

“Yang.” The name is a bullet, lodging between his ribs. He winces against the pain.

“You can’t prove that,” he spits.

Blake draws herself up to her full height. She’s not dressed for running at all - she’s wearing tight gray jeans, black boots with tall heels. But if she has to, if Yang’s life depends on it, she can outrun him. She doesn’t have a choice.

“I saw you in her room.” Blake presses her back against her car, hands searching for the door handle. She dips her fingers into the inside pocket of her coat, fist closing around cold metal, and slips the dagger into the back pocket of her jeans imperceptibly. “I know it was you. What do you _want_ from her, anyway? It’s been years-”

“Yes, Blake, it’s been years, and I’m sick of you running from me!” Adam lunges for her, fists closing around Blake’s jacket faster than she can swerve out of the way. She twists, wrenching her arms, muscles screaming - there’s a ripping of fabric and she’s away, sprinting across the parking lot toward the door of the office building.

It’s four stories high and deserted - either no one’s come into work yet or the place is under construction. Her footsteps pound up cement steps, fingernails scraping against cinderblock walls, thigh muscles aching as she hauls herself upward. _Crash_ \- he’s behind her. Speed-wise, she’s no match for him. He’ll catch her in an instant. 

“Dead end,” he calls behind her, laughing.

Blake hits the metal door handle at the top of the fourth flight of stairs, stumbling out onto the roof. March wind whips her hair into her face, prickling her skin; underneath her jacket, she was only wearing a black crop top, and she shivers involuntarily. Adam lurches through the door seconds after her, eyes gleaming.

“I’ve followed Yang since the second I realized you were betraying me.” He strikes her before she’s ready, a slap across the side of the face, and it sends her crumbling to the cement ground. She blinks, touching her cheek. Up above, the sky is achingly blue. “Do you know how that felt, Blake?”

She climbs to her feet slowly, flexing her arm muscles, forcing herself to look at him head-on.

“You never had any claim to me.”

“Lies,” he says casually, striding forward to glare down at her. “It’s amazing, really, how she’s poisoned you. What she’s deluded you into believing. So yes, Blake. Yes. I went to her house. How else do you think I’d be able to be absolutely sure that you weren’t still seeing each other?”

Blake’s eyes widen, horrified. “You could’ve… asked me?”

“And how? You run away like a scared little girl, like you always do. You change your phone number. Your parents are useless as always. They’re _proud_ of you,” he sneers. “Proud of you for what? Being a coward? All you know how to do is run.”

“I don’t care what you do to me, or what bullshit you say to me,” Blake spits. “But you will _not_ hurt Yang, do you understand me?”

“I’ll kill her if I have to,” he hisses, and Blake’s vision whites out, terror replacing the air in her lungs. “I’ll kill her in front of you, if that’s what it takes to keep you for myself.”

“Y-you’re fucking crazy.”

“I know what belongs to me. And I’m sick of letting that little bitch get everything she-”

“She _doesn’t_ get what she wants, Adam! Don’t you understand that?” Blake wrenches her arm out of his grip, gasping for air. He’s too fast; he lunges again, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. “Y-you never understood - I left her so that you would stop following her around. I knew you would do everything you could to separate us, so I did it first. I did it. We haven’t been together in… in almost two years. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“You’re still not with me,” Adam snaps, shaking her hard. His hands slide up to her neck, gripping her throat, tightening. Blake gasps and strains against him. She aims a kick at his legs, but his hold only tightens; she can feel the bruises forming already, the air leaving her lungs. _He’ll kill me._ “I still don’t have what I deserve.”

“Adam, I…” Blake chokes, and he loosens his grip, surprised. She sees herself reflected in his pupils - the gold of her irises, the black hair tumbling around her shoulders, the pale skin of her arms. With her left hand, she reaches up to the collar of his leather jacket, tightening her fist in the fabric. He stills, caught unsuspecting, eyebrows raising. For a split second, Blake is twelve years old and this is almost the darkly glamorous philosopher boy, the genius who believes in her, the one she’s desperate to give herself over to, ripping her heart straight out of her chest. 

Almost.

“Adam,” Blake says again, one hand behind her back. She flicks a switch, speaking loudly and clearly to cover the sound. “I think you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

He has no time to react. Her right arm strikes lightning-quick, silver switchblade in hand, driving straight into his jugular vein. Blake lets go of his jacket and he staggers back, clutching at his throat, eyes wide and glassy and staring at her. He’s dangerously close to the edge of the roof. She takes a deep breath, lungs filling with air, and she doesn’t see his eyes anymore, doesn’t see the crimson blood pouring down his chest in a steady stream, puddling on the cement. She sees Yang’s face beside hers, eyes like the sun chasing night from the sky.

 _You’re free_.

Blake steps forward, one, two, three, four - her boot collides with Adam’s stomach, a disabling kick that sends him tumbling backward from the roof. A long moment in the sunlight stretches, warming her hands, and slowly she kneels to the ground and covers her ears. She waits for the police sirens. She waits.

_*_

_twenty_

_Yang,_

_It’s January, and I just got to Vacuo University. As soon as I got here, I started seeing a therapist… I can’t tell her everything, obviously, but I needed someone to talk to. So I told her as much as I could, and she thought it might help for me to write you letters, even if I don’t send them._

_I think of you when I see the mountains in the distance, capped with snow, because I know you’d think they’re beautiful, just as beautiful as I have always thought you are. I think of you when it rains - it’s rare, but sometimes, sometimes it does, and it pounds against the glass, and I think of all the mornings we woke up tangled together and warm, condensation on the windowpane. I miss you. I miss you more than anything._

_*_

_twenty-one_

_Yang,_

_I’m not going to get in trouble._

_Everyone was clear about that. I acted in self-defense - there’s plenty of proof of Adam’s obsession with me, especially after the police got a search warrant for the Taurus mansion. His father didn’t even defend him, just paid a bunch of money to keep my name out of the news and to make sure my record stayed clean. I didn’t mention you during my statements to make sure word didn’t get to Tai… I couldn’t bear letting him down, even if I never see him again. Adam’s father also tried to pay off my dad, out of guilt, but Dad wouldn’t take the money. He just feels terrible about never protecting me, I guess. Or about never seeing the signs. Mom had called the police with her suspicions after I talked to her, so either way, he probably would’ve been caught in the end._

_Mom and Dad didn’t want me to go back to Vacuo after all of this, but I begged them. I just can’t stand being in this town, because I still see his ghost everywhere. I’ll see him in my nightmares too when I go back, I’m sure I will, but at least it feels more removed. And at least I don’t have to worry about running into you._

_I would give anything to run into you._

_I would give anything to go back._

_*_

_twenty-two_

_Yang,_

_Today’s the day you graduate from Atlas - I checked the calendar online. I hope that’s not weird. I thought about mailing you something, or adding you on Facebook again so I could write some stupid thing on your wall, but it just felt too big, you know? But I’m so proud of you._

_I don’t ever let myself look at pictures of you online because I want to pretend that you’re happy. And if I never see any evidence to the contrary, I can pretend I’m right._

_*_

_twenty-three_

_Yang,_

_~~Happy birthday! I hope it’s a great~~ _

~~_Thinking of you today - 23, wow! I hope_ ~~

~~_I’m sure your life is very different now. I know mine is. But I still_ ~~

_*_

_twenty-four_

_Yang,_

_*_

_twenty-six_

“Blake…”

Yang’s voice breaks. There’s a warmth in it she’s never heard before, not to this extent. She closes in on herself, burying her face in her hands. Alarmed, Blake slides down the couch until their shoulders brush. Her throat is aching from telling the entire story, her ribcage sore from the incessant pounding of her heart.

“Yang, I’m sorry,” Blake whispers, wrapping an arm around Yang’s shoulders. 

“You told me…” Yang pauses, voice muffled. “You told me he was in jail?”

She had known that question was coming, but it still stings, makes her scrape her bottom lip with her teeth. “It was just - no one knows what actually happened. What I did. Nobody except for my parents and his father. I wasn’t - I mean, I couldn’t…” Blake sighs, grasping for the right words. “I’m so sorry. I know it was stupid of me not to just… just call you and tell you what happened, or to go back to you. I-I’m so…”

“I love you,” Yang says, lifting her head, voice surprisingly steady. “But if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m gonna punch you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Baby…” She cups Blake’s face in her hands, thumbs stroking lightly across her cheeks. “You… you did all of that yourself, and you were _alone,_ and y-you put yourself through all of that… for me? Because you were trying to keep me safe?”

“It worked,” Blake says faintly. She leans into Yang’s touch. “Here you are, and you’re fine.”

“But I was never there for you!” There’s a flashing in Yang’s eyes, a sudden glimmer of red, and she twines her arms around Blake’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I-I should’ve been there for you. I fucked up. I should’ve known there was something bigger going on here… I should’ve gone after you…”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Blake presses her lips to Yang’s cheek, tangling her hands in her golden hair. “Because you know exactly what would’ve happened. He would’ve killed us both. He was so far gone by that point… he didn’t care.”

“I still wish I could’ve been there for you.”

“Yang,” Blake says softly. She thinks of the Polaroid picture on her nightstand. The yellow flash of her hair, the soft lilac of her eyes, the whisper of her voice. Everything she carried for five years. “You were. Trust me. You were.”

-

Pyrrha and Jaune’s wedding is in early September, the perfect window of time between humidity and crisp cold air, leaves still a vibrant golden green. Blake can’t stop watching Yang in her golden dress; it brushes the grass as she walks down the aisle clutching her red rose bouquet, brocade top catching the late afternoon sunlight. As soon as she gets to the grape arbor at the end of the aisle, she turns and finds Blake in the crowd, giving her an exuberant wink. Blake slides down lower in her seat, face flushing.

The reception goes late, past midnight - it’s a warm, beautiful night, and Blake can’t bring herself to leave Yang’s side for a single second. (The exception is when she gets up to give her maid of honor toast, which absolutely mortifies Pyrrha.) There’s an open bar - Jaune had decided on that early in the planning stages - so they get progressively drunker as the night goes on, spinning around the dance floor.

“You,” Yang announces, yelling over the deafening beat of the music, “are _way_ too gorgeous to be with me.”

A shiver of a thrill runs through Blake. She had chosen her outfit to be deliberately simple, since there was no need to outshine Yang; it’s a deep purple bodycon dress with thick straps, showing an - if she’s being honest - impressive amount of cleavage. Her heels are spiky and gold. Laughing, she digs her fingers into Yang’s waist. She remembers herself as a teenager, paralyzed by misery at the thought of finally, finally finding her soulmate, a girl too perfect to ever love her. 

“I think we’re pretty much perfect for each other, actually,” Blake says, her mouth brushing Yang’s ear, and Yang laughs in a way Blake doesn’t remember from college, from their past life - carefree, dizzyingly happy. “And I’m never going to leave you again, just so you know.”

Yang pulls back, brushing Blake’s hair out of her eyes, and smiles down at her, lavender eyes alight with love. 

“I know you won’t.”

-

It’s almost one in the morning by the time they get back to the hotel. A shuttle takes a whole group of them back: Weiss, champagne drunk and crying every time she sees Yang looking at Blake, wrapping them in group hugs every hour. Ilia, who looks happy just to be included. Nora and Ren, engaged as of last month; Sun and Neptune, who Pyrrha met over the summer and liked so much she decided to invite them, both of them laughing and joking at top volume. Ruby, of course, hanging over the back of Weiss’s seat and peppering her with questions. Blake’s sitting on Yang’s lap, twisting backward every few seconds to kiss her cheeks, her hair; around the fifth time, Yang buries her face in Blake’s hair, wrapping her arms around her waist tightly, holding her there.

They stumble through the hotel lobby in high heels, calling goodbyes to everyone else - they’ll meet in the morning for brunch and to catch up, which Blake’s thankful for, because right now she can’t process anyone else’s existence aside from Yang. The elevator is mirrored, bouncing their reflections back a thousand times, and Blake watches the spill of her dark hair down her back as Yang leans into her, pressing her lips against her neck, sucking, biting. The elevator takes them all the way to the top. Blake had dropped a serious chunk of money on their room, spurred on by nothing other than a blind desire to give Yang the nicest of everything.

Blake swipes the keycard and they trip into the room, still attached to each other, laughing. Yang switches on the lamp with one hand, tracing her fingers down Blake’s neck with a featherlight touch. Her smile fades as she counts the bruises.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stutters, eyes widening. “I didn’t even ask if you were okay with-”

“Yang,” Blake breathes. She scrapes her nails down Yang’s back, pressing into her. “I’m safe with you. I want you to do everything to me.”

Yang melts with relief, with molten desire, and pushes Blake back against the wall. With one hand, she grips both of Blake’s wrists and holds them above her head - Blake gasps, eyes falling shut, concentrating on the feeling of Yang’s left hand stroking slow circles on her upper thigh. When she reaches Blake’s underwear, she loops her fingers under the black lace and pulls down. Yang kisses her hard with swollen red lips, fingers tightening around her wrists, her left hand skimming higher, pausing every few seconds.

“Yang, Jesus Christ.” Blake glares at her, chest heaving. “If you don’t get your fucking shit together-”

Yang’s eyes light up, shooting her a brilliant smile, cocky. “This really brings out a whole other side of you, Belladonna. I’m into it.”

“Yang, I swear, I’ll-”

“What’ll you do?” Yang breathes, pressing so close her lips brush Blake’s ear. Before she can answer, Yang slides a finger inside her and Blake’s jaw falls open, a whole blur of unintelligible words slipping out of her mouth. “Open your eyes.”

Blake does. Yang’s watching her, eyes dark purple; she pulls her finger out and sucks hard, never breaking eye contact, not even when Blake lets out a moan she would _definitely_ regret if she were a little more sober. She touches her again, two fingers moving in and out, Blake rocking her hips against the insistent rhythm. It only takes another minute of this, of Yang’s fingers stroking, circling, before she falls apart. Yang drops her wrists immediately, wrapping her arms around Blake’s waist, holding her gently. 

The juxtaposition is almost too much for Blake to handle; she feels her love for Yang like a physical presence, like a mist hanging over the room, dampening her skin with sweat. She digs her fingers into Yang’s shoulders and whirls her around - she lets out a little gasp of surprise, lilac eyes widening, glimmering in the golden light.

“Oh, yeah?” Yang asks, smiling widely. “That’s how it’s gonna be? Why do you think y-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Blake interrupts, pressing a kiss to her lips, twining her hands through Yang’s hair. She reaches behind Yang’s back and tugs the zipper of her dress, letting it fall to her waist, easing it down over her legs; Yang steps out of the tulle skirt obediently, watching Blake with fascination. “You’re _such_ a sex talker. Not everything needs commentary.”

Yang bursts out laughing, about to say something else, but when Blake tosses her dress aside and gets on her knees, she shuts up. Blake rakes her nails up and down the backs of her legs, trailing kisses up her inner thighs; instead of giving in, she palms Yang through her underwear, feeling her getting wetter by the second, listening to Yang’s sighing and swearing as it fills the room. Blake knows she’s complaining, but her words are incomprehensible.

“Okay,” Blake says finally, tugging her underwear down her thighs, and Yang makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She can’t even count the amount of times she thought about this: her tongue inside Yang, alternating between flicking and sucking, tasting her, hearing her. Yang pulls her hair, fingers twisting through dark waves, holding Blake’s head closer so she can grind against her mouth.

Blake’s eyes flicker up and the view is so overwhelming she has to pull back for a second, gulping cool air, staring up at Yang.

“Oh my God why the fuck are you stopping,” Yang pants, eyes falling shut. Her head is resting against the wall, bangs plastered to her forehead, face flushed brilliant pink. 

“I just had to look at you for a second,” Blake says, reaching between her own legs before she realizes what she’s doing. She touches herself lightly, slowly, feeling a rush of heat, a dizziness that clouds her mind. Then she goes back to Yang, swiping her tongue in patterns she memorized long ago. Her nails scrape against Blake’s scalp. It stretches on forever before they both come together, Blake’s heart beating out of her chest, unable to focus on anything other than the absolute ecstasy that she actually gets to live like this - that she’s with Yang now, that Yang loves her, that she’ll love her this much.

Yang sinks to the floor so they’re face to face, collapsing into Blake, face pressed to her shoulder. Blake laughs, ruffling her hair.

“Get on the bed, weirdo. I’m not doing anything with you on a hotel room floor.”

“It’s a really nice room,” Yang says, out of breath, but she leaps onto the bed, pulling Blake with her.

“I didn’t even take my heels off,” Blake laughs.

“It’s okay, baby,” Yang slurs, rolling on top of her, grinning. “Let me fuck you with them still on. It’s hot.”

“Is this how it’s going to be forever?” Blake asks. It’s supposed to mean _will we always want each other this much, will the longing ever go away even when we know we can have this whenever we want_ , but the words come out heavier and hang in the air. 

Yang raises her head, eyes sparkling with hope. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Yeah, Belladonna,” she says, smiling softly, pressing a kiss to Blake’s hipbone, the imaginary ghost of a scar. “This is how it’s gonna be forever.”

-

They don’t fall asleep until almost four in the morning. Yang drifts off first, golden hair spread across the white pillowcase, and Blake sits beside her and smiles. She could do this for the rest of her life - trace a finger along her jawline, along her full lips half-quirked into a sleeping smile, along her perfect collarbones, and just admire how perfect she is, how beautiful. She will.

She thinks of all the places she’s been - the Taurus mansion back home, her Atlas University dorm room, the lonely bedroom in Vacuo where the wind howled down the windowpanes. She pictures each place behind her eyelids and lets them blow away like smoke, dead and gone. The ghosts will never haunt her again. She has an eternity to love Yang exactly as she does right now. And that’s just in this life.

Even though Yang isn’t awake to hear, Blake brushes a kiss against her hair and whispers the words she’s waited five years to say.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote "Give me your ghosts. Give me your demons. I'll fight them all with my bare hands." is originally from [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398981), and is also referenced in [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370578), both written by [explosivesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosivesky/pseuds/explosivesky). How does Blake know this quote? That's a secret I'll never tell. xoxo, gossip halcyonlight


End file.
